My Flamingo
by redisthenewblackington
Summary: This is a fluffy and nostalgic AU crossover between The Blacklist and Boston Legal. There's no Tom Keen or Bond. It takes place after completion of Red's list, and he's reconnected with an old friend, a lawyer, to ensure that his immunity deal remains iron-clad. There's no Lizzie in the first chapter, but it's gonna be Lizzington, for sure! I'm really making an effort to keep
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I'm in no way connected to The Blacklist, and I'm not profiting from this story.

Chapter one:

"DENNY! You old fat cat." Red boomed, arms open, before pulling his old friend into a hearty embrace. "I see you won't be fitting into your Navy Blues again anytime soon."

Poking a finger into Red's ribs, Denny grinned. "Just wait until you're my age. Think you'll want to cut back on the Scotch and cigars anytime soon? You're looking at your future, my friend. Denny Crane. Fat and happy."

"Denny, where's your old Ruger? You never go anywhere without it."

"You're still a sneaky sonofabitch, Raymond. And here I thought that was only a hug. Shirley hates it." In a lowered voice, he added, "I've got it strapped to my ankle."

Red grinned. "My flamingo." Then added, "Speaking of Shirley, how is the old battle ax? The kids? Tell me I won't want to wrestle you for her again."

"Don't start with me, Raymond. Shirley Schmidt will always be off-limits. She's a goddess. She's MY goddess."

"She didn't take your name."

"Of course not! Can you imagine the power of SHIRLEY CRANE? The world would tremble and collapse."

"She refused."

"Damn right. Did you expect differently?"

Red smiled fondly. "Never."

"Oh, the kids! You remember Donnie. I just made him partner. You know, I'm proud of the little pinko. We're changing the signs tomorrow. Crane, Schmidt, and Crane."

"Perfect."

"Sebastian's at Harvard Law, now. Blood of my blood, that one. Shirley thought we were too old. My legacy is ageless! The boy's gonna be president, Raymond. I can feel it."

"I'll have to hire someone else to cast it, but he has my vote."

"Of course."

"I thought you had a daughter."

"Yes." He paused. "Just the one. Elise."

"And?" implored Red

"She really took after Shirley. Orange of my eye. A firey lefty social worker. And you will NOT believe this..."

Dismissing his urge to tell him that it's apple, Red pressed "My breath is baited, Denny. Out with it."

Denny was beaming. "I'm gonna be a grandpa!"

"That's wonderful news! Congratulations! We'll have to discuss our business with cigars instead of waiting until after." Reaching into his inner coat pocket, he pulled out a small and well-worn, leather-bound cigar case. Proffering one to his friend, he said, "The finest that money can buy, and suitable for the many momentous aspects of this day."

"Come, Raymond. You'll love what I've done with the balcony."

Red smiled. "Lead the way, my friend."


	2. Chapter 2

Chaper two

There wasn't a single cloud over Boston. The sun shone brightly despite the chill of the breeze rolling in from the harbor. The city seemed to sparkle, and Denny was right. Raymond did love what he did with the balcony: not a damn thing.

Seeming to read Red's thoughts, Denny interrupted the comfortable silence. "I was never one to disturb perfection."

"No?"

"No."

Closing the last page of Red's lengthy immunity contract, Denny let out an exasperated sigh. The paperwork was flawless, and he knew that Red already knew this.

"Raymond."

"Denny?"

"Tell me why you're really here."

"For all the work I've done for the FBI.. hell, for this country, some powerful people still want me behind bars. It would be foolish to not get a second opinion, because this is my second chance, Denny, and I don't intend to squander it."

"Of course, but sti-"

Red cut him off. "Surely you understand the gravity of the situation. If this fails, I can only run or go to prison. I'm tired of running, Denny. I want to finally rest. I want the luxury of solitary moments without looking over my own shoulder, and with the knowledge that there will be many more to come. And I want her t-"

This time, he cut himself off. That was a mistake. His relationship with Lizzie was a well-kept secret. Was. They would go public soon, but not until he was officially cleared of his nearly-countless charges. Not until it was safe for her, and damnit, it wasn't safe yet. Denny won't let this one go. Raymond was sure of it.

He could just leave now. He doesn't have to give up anything else. Why not stand up and go? Just stand up. Just stand.. Stand. Stand!

Oh, hell. He's missed this. The view of the Boston skyline, scotch in one hand, cigar in the other, and Denny. Friendships never came easily to Red, but he and Denny were synced so comfortably, as if they were never apart. He could finally admit to himself how much he had missed this, and this too was a second chance that he couldn't squander.

"Who is she, Raymond? Who's your second chance? Tell me about her."

"SHE is besides the point, Denny. That's my freedom, right there, in your hands."

"Your evasive attitude is as infuriating as ever."

Lizzie wouldn't want him to lose a friend over this. Lizzie would want to meet him someday. But... would she want him to out them now? If so, how will he protect her? Will he even have to? Red detests uncertainty. It's one of the most effective means of torture.

Denny was openly staring at him now, both imploring and annoyed. Digging in with his mental spurs, his mind was racing.

Think fast, Reddington.


	3. Chapter 3

3

Back in Spotsylvania, Virginia, Elizabeth was spending a much-needed day astride her beloved horse, Hudson. At 16 hands, the coal black gelding is unusually tall for an Arabian, and Liz relished the view from his saddle.

It's hard to believe he's the same horse seized from the abandoned property of a blacklister just three years ago. He was skinny and lame, but when Liz found him in that tiny paddock, he immediately approached her with a soft knicker. "Hey buddy. Are you alright?" Liz spoke softly, offering her palm for him to smell. His whiskers tickled her hardened scar, and she immediately fell in love.

As a kid, Sam enrolled her in a horseback riding camp for eight weeks every summer, but it had been over a decade since the last time she rode. A sudden rush of memories struck her, and hard. She hopped the fence. When Red found her, she had her arms around the colt's neck, sobbing into his thick and tangled mane.

He silently watched the pair from afar, sensing how much she needed that moment alone with the horse. Even to his untrained eye, it was obvious that the horse needed her, too. He made a decision without deliberation. The ragged colt would never see an auction block, and Red would never have to tear Lizzie away from him.

Later that night, exhausted and elated, Liz kissed Red for the very first time.

She couldn't help smiling at the memory. That was their true beginning.

Hudson is boarded at one of Red's safe houses, a huge farm only a few miles from Interstate 95. Lizzie stays in the guest cottage whenever Red is away. From there, her commute to work is over an hour, but it's worth it.

Red never really cared for horses, but he likes to accompany Lizzie to the farm whenever he can. The secluded acres have become a sanctuary for their secrets. To Red, Lizzie has always been the most beautiful creature he has ever seen, but there are two places where she literally takes his breath away. The first, of course, is writhing hot, astride or beneath him, illuminated by the moonlight in Hempstead's living room. The second is astride a galloping Hudson, a blur of wind-whipped hair with an impossibly huge grin. Only Hudson can produce that grin, and only Red gets to see it. He leans against the fence in his three piece suits and watches her ride, breathless and spell-bound, as often as his schedule allows.

Liz is exhausted from work, but her solo rides are meditative. This is where she unwinds. This is where she can either think in peace or silence her mind with Hudson's even, rhythmic hoofbeats. She used to run, but now, she rides.

"This is so much better!" She says aloud, to no one. Then, tightening the reins and leaning back slightly, she cues Hudson to slow to a walk.

"Do you think Red is having a good time reconnecting with Denny?" she playfully asks Hudson, checking her watch. "He'll probably call soon."


	4. Chapter 4

4

The tension was palpable. Red gazed far off into the distance while Denny continued to stare at him, waiting for him to speak.

Finally, Red cut through the silence, with a single word. "Denny..." He knew he couldn't lie to his friend, but he just wasn't ready for this conversation. Not yet. He'll find the middle ground. Surely Denny will understand.

He paused before continuing. "It wasn't my intention to discuss her. I can't. Not yet. But Denny... I will. Before I leave, I will. Let me talk to her first. I know this doesn't make sense to you now, but you can trust me."

It didn't escape Denny that Red was parroting his own line back at him, but he knew he wouldn't make it any further. This wasn't supposed to be an interrogation. He could either take it or leave it.

Resigned, Denny nodded. He decided to take it.

"Raymond, how long since you've had L'Espalier? I have ressies for 8:30 tonight. Join me?"

A smile slowly crept up Red's cheeks. "At least a century! Perhaps even more. I'd be delighted."

Both men turned their heads at the whooshing sound of the sliding glass door opening. "Raymond, it has been too long." Shirley Schmidt stepped out, and onto the balcony. Gone was her long, wavy blonde hair. Now, it's silver, shoulder-length, and straight. It frames her face perfectly and serves to highlight her amethyst eyes.

Good god, Shirley Schmidt. She's as dignified and resplendent as ever.

Red wasted no time, rushing over to take her hand, softly kiss it, and tell her so. They exchanged sly, conspiratorial smiles.

"Watch it there, tiger." Denny growled.

Red and Shirley's flirtation was only in jest, intentionally at Denny's expense. It was an old dance they gleefully revisited, dating back to the days when Denny pined for her and she played Hard To Get.

She had little interest in Red, even back then, though truth be told, she'd more than once entertained the idea of bedding the younger, handsome man, just for the thrill. She could have taught him a thing or two. Every woman in her wake would have been unknowingly in her debt.

They chuckled at Denny's indignation.

Yes, Shirley thought to herself. She had been right to not follow through with that notion. Raymond is wearing the hell out of that three piece suit, but his life had been a complicated one. Sleeping with him would have likely caused her to care for him more, in spite of herself. That charmer. That virile, enigmatic criminal. She could see that he'd made time to have a little work done, but who among them had not? Shirley ruefully shook her head at herself, returning to the moment and the conversation at hand.

Red purred, "Tell me, do you still have that cheerleader skirt?"

"Well.." Shirley began to reply, but Denny cut her off.

"NO, Raymond. I have it, and I'm not loaning it out to you again!" His eyes narrowed for a moment, but he couldn't hold the bluff. He sputtered and doubled over, guffawing.

Red playfully slapped his shoulder as both he and Shirley joined in, laughing loud and hard.

Shirley recovered first. "Just imagine the trouble we would have gotten into if you had stuck around, Raymond."

"We would have burned this city to the ground. You, too, would be felons."

"Oh, please." Denny scoffed. "I'd get us all off. Denny Crane!" Then he chuckled. "Don't misunderstand me. That wasn't a double entrée."

Shirley huffed, "It's double entendre, you meatball." She turned her shoulder toward the door.

"No, I told you it wasn't."

Shirley and Red's eyes met and rolled.

"Just so you know, I'm not really a felon. I've never been convicted of anything."

"Of course." said Shirley. "Anyway, I need to go meet with a new client. Raymond, it's truly wonderful to see you. I hope to catch you again before you depart."

"It would be my pleasure, Shirley." Red winked at her and waved. When her back was turned, he made a show of watching her leave, all leering eyes and wicked smile.

And with another whoosh of the door, Denny and Red were alone again.

"Denny, you know I'd never really..."

"Oh, I know that you wanted to. You tried."

"I did, but only in sport. I knew she'd never let me. She wanted you."

"Denny Crane!"

"Indeed."

"So... L'Espalier! Excellent. I'm due in court in an hour. Can you believe Hooper is still on the bench? He's practically a fossil.." Denny seemed to have lost his train of thought.

"Ah. Anyway, why don't you go back to your hotel and rest up a bit? Call your mysterious second chance. Talk it over, but know this: I won't let you off the hook! I'll send a town car for you at 8."

"Are they still the best in Back Bay?"

"Would we go there otherwise?"

Red shook his head. "No, we wouldn't."

"Of course, it will be too chilly to dine on the patio, but if you'd like, perhaps we can enjoy a few drinks out there after."

"In Loro Piana Storm System cashmere and your company, I can enjoy anything."

"Flamingoes forever."

The men embraced. Still holding on, Denny turned his head and whispered in Red's ear. "But no sleepover. Don't even ask!"

Red huffed and rolled his eyes.

Stepping back inside, Red pulled out his cell phone and rang Dembe, asking him to bring the car around. He then turned toward Denny and cocked his head to the side. "See you at 8:30."

-...-...-...-

Red slouched down in the back of his late model Mercedes, lost in thought.

The Mandarin, his preferred lodging in Boston, was only a few blocks from Denny's 500 Boylston law firm. It seemed a waste to drive the short distance. Why not walk? See the city from the ground? If she were here, Lizzie wouldn't let him get away with it. Red chastised himself for his laziness. He knows that because of her, he's a better man.

As if on cue, to add to Red's spot of guilt, his sweet tooth began misbehaving. He couldn't ignore it. Like thirst, it would only cease by being sated.

Gelato. Pistachio gelato. He absolutely had to have it.

And it will hurt. It always does. Like most painful things, he finds that it's worth it.

"Dembe, I apologize for the change of plans. Would you care for some gelato?"

Red watched his loyal friend and bodyguard's reaction through the rear view mirror. Flashing his bright white teeth, clearly pleased, Dembe replied, "Certainly, Raymond. Where to?"

Red's response needed no consideration. He has a favorite hole in the wall for each imaginable type of cuisine. It was no coincidence that his favorite for gelato is in Boston.

"Caffé Paradiso, in the North End. Hanover Street."

Paradiso is a small cafe, founded by and passed down three generations of the DeStefano family. Its prime location in Little Italy, near the end of The Freedom Trail, made it an afternoon hotspot for weary-footed tourists. In fact, that's exactly how Red discovered it, with his daughter, Jenny, many years ago.

In addition to their custom-blend coffee and espresso, Paradiso offers wine and spirits, and an ample selection of authentic Italian deserts. They boast of having the best cannoli in Boston. Best of all, to Red and his daughter, is their homemade artisan gelato. They make over a dozen flavors, and he's tried them all. Pistaschio was Jenny's favorite, and that's why it's his, now. He eats it for her because she can't. He savors each bite, for her, and his heart aches with every swallow.

After seating themselves, Red ordered a Castello Banfi grappa to accompany his gelato. Dembe chose an iced espresso with stracciatella gelato. The tiny cafe was full of resident Italians, cheering and enthralled by a soccer game playing on several mounted television sets. Red hardly noticed them.

Jenny.

Lizzie.

Denny.

Jenny. Jenny. Jenny.

Lizzie. Lizzie. Lizzie.

Denny.

He can't believe he slipped, with Denny.

Hopefully Lizzie will be understanding of his blunder. Would she become angry? Maybe she'll want Red to tell him. She had previously expressed her desire to let the cat out of the bag, at the Post Office, but she wasn't serious. She simply finds it difficult to maintain the professional charade of personal indifference to him.

He's more than acquainted with the struggle. It isn't easy for him, either.

Lizzie peppers her professional wardrobe with red accessories, for him. Red nail polish. A red cashmere scarf. Red leather flats. A red wool coat. The ruby earnings he gave her on Valentines Day. She's discreet. She never wears more than one red item at a time. And she's never mentioned it, but Red knows that she does it for him. It makes his blood pump, seeing those silent and striking odes to him. He loves knowing that she wants him so much that she can't contain it fully. He often imagines that every non-red article of clothing has vanished, and she's staring at him in invitation from across the war room.

That simple expression of Lizzie's love takes his mind to places that are utterly inappropriate for work. He loves her so much that he feels it bursting inside of his chest and radiating off of every pore in his body. It's truly a wonder that they're able to accomplish anything outside of his myriad temporary bedrooms... or her bedroom... or the late Hempstead's living room... or her kitchen... or her shower... or his myriad temporary showers... or literally every room of the guest cottage where Hudson is boarded...

Red fully understands how the maintenance of their secret relationship can be difficult for Lizzie.

He'll call her as soon as he's settled in at The Hotel Mandarin. He'll explain his slip with Denny.

Hopefully, she'll be understanding of how difficult it is for him, too.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own neither Boston Legal nor The Blacklist.

Please forgive the terrible delay on my update. I haven't abandoned this one.

Chapter 5

Back at The Mandarin, Dembe and Red returned to their adjoining suites. Red immediately hit the mini bar, and was pacing from door to window, a tumbler of scotch in hand. This was the side of Red that was seldom seen. Behind the stoic, fast-talking facade was a man who brooded behind closed doors, thinking and rethinking over the multitude of ways he could approach even the slightest of confrontations.

He sighed heavily, picking up the phone.

Lizzie answered on the third ring.

"Red! Hi. How's Boston? Have you had a chance to catch up with Denny, yet? I've missed you." She was shamelessly gushing. She really had missed him.

It felt so good to hear her voice.

"I've missed you, too."

He should just say it. He was making mountains of molehills, and he knew it.

"Sweetheart, it's been wonderful seeing Denny again. We're having dinner tonight at 8:30. There's something I need to tell you though. I've made a bit of a mistake."

"Okay, I'm listening." Lizzie hoped she didn't sound anxious.

He took a deep breath.

"I slipped a bit when answering Denny's questions about why I needed him to look over my deal. He felt that its perfection was apparent and he wasn't satisfied with what I'd already told him. I got exasperated and slipped a 'her' into my response."

"So?" Lizzie inquired, instantly relieved. She loves the man, but he could stand to ease up on the drama.

"Denny's quite relentless. It's what makes him such a good lawyer. 'Tenacious' hardly begins to describe him."

Lizzie smiled and lamented that Red couldn't see it. She was well-aware of her power over him.

"He sounds like me!" She laughed, and it was music to his ears. "I can see why you like him so much."

Red brought the tumbler to his lips and took a very relieved gulp from it. This wasn't going terribly, so far.

"I'll have to tell him about us." He paused and waited for the other shoe to drop.

"Red, ease up on yourself! You trust Denny, don't you? And we're going public soon anyway, right?" Seriously, what does he expect Denny to do, hold a press conference? Write a letter to Cooper?

"Yes. Yes, we are." He sighed. "So how much can I say?"

"Red, you can tell him anything. You can tell him everything." She paused. "Just.. leave out the details of our sex life, if you could. From what you've told me about Denny, I wouldn't be surprised if he asks."

Red nodded. "Oh, he will." He laughed. "Especially when he finds out about our age difference."

She smiled. That was something other people would probably care about. It never bothered her.

Red thought it was a good time to change the subject. "How was your ride today?"

"Wonderful! The private lessons have really paid off. Thank you again, by the way. I do worry sometimes that Hudson's too much horse for me, especially since he's so green. He should have a stronger rider. He deserves that." It still felt a little strange admitting her insecurities to him, but she was working on it.

"Sweetheart, you'd been out of the saddle for a long time. I wouldn't forgive myself if you got hurt, especially if I could have prevented it. I acted rashly when I bought him for you, but I'd never take him away."

Lizzie was used to that, by now. It was a tremendous point of contention between them for years. She was accustomed to fighting her own battles, carrying her own weight, and looking over her own shoulder. When Red suddenly showed up and started doing things like this for her, she seriously questioned his motives. Once she finally understood, she still resented it. Her resentment was the hardest thing to overcome. Red had worked long and hard for her to give him her heart. She had his long before she even knew it.

"You know that Sam would be so proud." It was bittersweet to mention Lizzie's adoptive father, and Red's oldest friend, but it felt right. Sometimes, she needed to be reminded of how proud Sam would be.

"Yes." She agreed. "I suppose he would."

A moment of mutually-contemplative silence passed between them. It was Lizzie who broke it.

"Hey, Red, you should try to squeeze a nap in before you go out with Denny tonight. If I know you, you haven't slept since you left."

He chuckled. Indeed, she knew him well. Red tried to make light of her concern. "That was just a lucky guess, but I suppose I should acquiesce to your suggestion. A nap sounds nice. I sleep much better with you."

"I know. Me too. Enjoy your dinner with Denny and relax. Call me tomorrow sometime. I love you."

"I will, and I love you too. Goodbye."

"Bye, Red."

Red stared at the phone in wonder and shook his head. She knew him a little too well, and that realization always came as a surprise.

He stripped down to his boxers, eyeing his imperfect reflection in the mirror, and crawled into bed, pulling the blanket up to his chin. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine her lying there beside him. He dared not turn on his side, for he'd be confronted by the cool sheets-unimpeachable proof that she wasn't.


	6. Chapter 6

Red couldn't sleep, but he forced himself to lay still, to at least rest his body (if not his mind) for the few hours before he needed to get dressed for dinner. There was something off about Denny, and he couldn't quite place it. Red had been so preoccupied with his blunder about Lizzie that he hadn't yet processed Denny's strangeness until he had things squared away with her. Even after ruminating over the entire conversation with Denny, and replaying it in his mind several times, he still couldn't quite put his finger on it.

There was a distant sadness in Denny's eyes, or perhaps a vacancy. The more Red thought about it, the more familiar it looked. It was a lot like his own, when he thinks about Jenny, and has to continue "playing normal" for one reason or another. Dembe and Lizzie could usually tell. They never say anything, but he notices how they'd get a little uneasy, and start acting a little too nice.

Briefly he considered withholding information about Lizzie until Denny tells him what's wrong, but a good friend wouldn't do that. Red may not have had many good friends, but he still knew how to be one. Not only that, but since Red was preparing to rejoin law-abiding society, he expected to see much more of Denny. It would no longer compromise Denny's career for him to do so.

By the time he got up to get ready for dinner, Red had decided that he wouldn't even ask. Whatever it is, there's plenty of time to figure it out. Denny will talk when he's ready.

They were two drinks in and still working on their appetizers when Denny went in for the kill, zeroing in on Red's love life.

"You've talked to her, haven't you, Raymond? Tell me about her."

Red made a show of heaving a heavy sigh, feigning exasperation.

Denny lifted his glass and leaned forward, wordlessly staring Red down like a witness for opposing council. His eyes seemed to hold this warning: Commit purgary, and you'll be sorry.

"Her name is Elizabeth. She's a criminal profiler."

Denny grinned. "You're pulling my leg."

Red's grin mirrored Denny's, but he shook his head, laughing. "For the FBI."

"You dog!"

Red held his palms up, shrugging.

Denny began to piece it together. "So, you turned yourself in at J. Egar Hoover, and seduced an FBI profiler?"

"That's a rather succinct account of events."

"Huh... Wait. Was she the... the reason?"

"She was, largely. It wasn't, however, my intent to seduce her. I needed her. I still do, but for different, more obvious reasons."

"Well, I can see why you needed to keep it under wraps, and that ah, makes it more fun, anyway."

"It was at first. We've had some close calls. I think the secrecy is harder for Lizzie than it is for me, but she's become a skilled liar. It's served us well with the work we do, but still. That's my fault, and I don't feel very good about that."

The server appeared then with their entrées. Both men requested another scotch, and fell into a comfortable silence while they dug into their steaks.

Denny finished first. He set down his cutlery and pushed his plate aside.

Not missing a beat, Denny asked, "She goes by Lizzie?"

"No. Liz. I call her Lizzie."

"Raymond." Denny waggled his eyebrows, imploring. "Picture?"

"Fine, but I'm gonna need you to promise that you'll simmer your reaction."

"Ooo! She must be either super hot or totally butch. Either way, no promises, Raymond. Show me anyway. Denny Crane."

This time, Red's exasperated sigh was genuine. Just the same, he chose to comply with Denny's wishes.

He pulled out his wallet and removed a small, worn out photograph. It was taken on the day they moved Hudson into his new home. Lizzie was in the middle of brushing him when Red called her name from outside the stall. When she turned to face him, Lizzie's expression was nothing short of ethereal. His first thought was that if he could, he'd paint her just like that. Snapping a picture was the next best thing.

The colors were faded and corners were turned down from being handled frequently. He looks at it daily, and many times a day when they're apart.

Red slid the photo across the table.

Denny's only response was a strangled gasp.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

It took Denny just a little too long to find his voice. "Raymond, she's stunning!"

"I couldn't agree more." Red cocked a half-smile.

"Quite young."

Red adopted his best Captain Obvious tone to say, "You think?"

Denny was still clutching the photograph, staring at it intently.

"Her birthday is next week, actually," Red added, hoping to keep Denny from asking her age. This was getting awkward.

Denny gasped again, bringing the picture closer to his face.

"Would you like to see what I got her?" Red asked, reaching into his pocket.

Denny shook his head, eyes still locked on Lizzie.

Red was flummoxed. What's he doing? Looking for Waldo? Was this Denny's way of getting back at him for hitting on Shirley? Red canted his head, studying Denny's reaction.

The silence became deafening. The tension palpable. Red was silent, debating how long he should let it go on. He surreptitiously looked down at his Cartier watch and started counting.

After five minutes, he'd had enough. He gently tried to get Denny's attention. "Denny?"

No response.

Red tried again, increasing his volume. "Denny?"

Nothing. Was he was having a stroke?

Red reached across the table and gave Denny's forearm a gentle squeeze. "Denny? Are you okay?"

Slowly, Denny raised his eyes to meet Red's. And finally he spoke. "You said her birthday is next week?"

Yes. Last century! Red only nodded.

"She looks like.." Denny took a huge breath and let it out slowly. He was still holding the photo.

"Like what? WHO does she look like?"

"It's. She.. No. It's just a coincidence."

"Who, Denny?"

"Nevermind. Raymond, I should go. I've got a big trial tomorrow. Excuse me. Waiter! Check, please!"

"I already slipped the server my card. You weren't going to let me pay, were you?" Red chose to answer his own question. "No. So I took care of it."

Denny eyed him, cautiously. "Thank you, Ray. You didn't have to do that."

"No, I didn't. I don't see your point."

They both stood and pushed in their chairs. Red donned his slate-colored fedora. When Denny did an about-face, heading in the direction of the entrance, Red caught his elbow.

"Drinks on the patio, remember?"

"Sorry, Ray. Big trial tomorrow. Another time." He shook his arm, trying to free himself of Red's grasp.

But he's lying. Red was certain of it. Red tightened his grip and shook his head. "Patio."

He let go and made his way in the opposite direction without looking back, confident that Denny would follow. On his way out the back door, he stopped at the bar and ordered more drinks for them both.

When they were seated outside, Red decided to try again, but from a different angle.

"If you don't fully trust me, Denny, I understand. I've been out of your life for a long time. To say that we still need to catch up is an understatement. Just the same, whether or not you believe it, I am trustworthy. I'm also well-connected. They call me The Concierge of Crime for a reason. If there's anything in the world that can be done to help, I'll do it. Talk to me. I opened up to you, and you know that wasn't easy for me. Denny, you're my flamingo."

He paused, giving Denny a moment to think it over, before he pressed on.

"Who does Lizzie coincidentally look like?"

Denny downed his drink before answering, "My daughter."

"Elise?"

Denny finally looked at Red. "Anna."

Red rapidly blinked three times in succession, but he waited for Denny to elaborate.

When it became clear that he wouldn't, Red pressed further, "You have another daughter, and she looks like Lizzie? This morning, you said that you had 'just the one'". Red winced at his own words. Was it unfair to call him out like that?

Denny nodded slowly. "Her birthday is next week, too."

Red leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, briefly chewing on his cheek. It was a delicate situation, but for now, he just had to keep asking the right questions. The next one was especially tough.

"Where is Anna?"

Denny's eyes again lifted to meet Red's, but this time they were rheumy with long-unshed tears.

"I don't know, Raymond. She may have died. That's the worst part."

"Tell me about her mother."

"It was the '80s. We were briefly docked in Norfolk, at the time. She and I weren't even dating. It was a drunken fling. I've had thousands, you know? Denny Crane. I should have seen it coming."

Red nodded. "Perhaps."

"She had a boyfriend, but he was away on business. It was never her intention to tell me about our baby. She wanted to raise our daughter with her boyfriend, letting him believe that he was her father. She contacted me a year after Anna was born, and only because she needed money. I offered a cashier's check, on the condition that I got to meet her first. I almost wish I hadn't. Letting her go... it was among the hardest things I've ever done." His voice was coming out strained.

"Take your time, Denny. Remember to breathe." Red was becoming increasingly concerned, and he was dying to hear more, but in this moment, his top priority was to reassure his friend.

Denny took a deep breath and continued, "Anyway, they moved around a lot, so whenever she was strapped for cash, she'd send me a recent photograph. That's how I knew where to send the money. She stopped sending them right around Anna's birthday."

"Which was... Wait. What's her D.O.B.?"

"April 29th, 1983." At this point, Denny's lawyering instincts kicked in. He began scrutinizing Red's reactions. Something was off. It seemed he was seeking confirmation about something. Denny wondered if he was getting it.

Red's eyes briefly widened on their own accord, belying his investment in the story.

Denny continued, "After six months of not getting any pictures, I got the help of one of the firm's contracted P.I. guys. It turns out that they had moved since I received that last photograph. Either she decided not to send one, or she never got a chance. The last sighting of her mother was at a methadone clinic. It was '89."

Red's breath hitched and he sat up straight.

"For awhile, I worried that I didn't even have a daughter, and that I'd been tricked into funding that woman's drug habit. She could have just borrowed or kidnapped a baby for me to meet that day. That would explain why she refused to allow me to see her again."

Red leaned back again, rubbing his hand over his closely-shorn hair.

"When my P.I. found their last address, he learned that the house had been torched, and supposedly a man and his daughter may have perished in the flames. It was arson. The powerful accelerent used would have been enough to fully obliterate a human being. It was unknown whether or not they were home when the fire started. However, because they just disappeared without a trace, they're presumed to have died."

Red chewed his inner cheeks nervously. Denny recognized the tell but kept going anyhow.

"Therefore, there was no death certificate. He interviewed the neighbors to gleam information about where they could/may/wanted to go, and if they had any known aliases. It was essentially fruitless. They were only known for being the quiet types. They kept to themselves. And SO, the trail ran cold. The P.I. got nothing. No obituary, even. She just... disappeared."

Finally, Red spoke. "Denny, I'm not trying to undermine your feelings with what I'm about to say. Let me make that clear. Do you understand?"

Denny cautiously nodded.

"May I see a picture of her? Do you carry one with you?"

Denny reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a picture, and slid it across the table to Red.

It was a picture of Lizzie on a swing set, and Red had killed the man pushing her.

Red could only gasp.

I struggled quite a bit with this chapter. All of these dialogs are difficult to pepper with eloquence or imagery, but that doesn't stop me from trying. I hope it isn't coming off as contrived. Please let me know what you think! Xxxxx


	8. Chapter 8

Okay, guys. I feel a bit guilty about the lapse in updates, especially because this long-awaited chapter is so skimpy. My intent was to write a nice, long chapter, but with great disappointment, I hit a wall and failed to scale it. As a result, this is only a small peek into Red's fast-talking mind. I wouldn't describe it as filler, since Red's thoughts actually inform what's to come, and why. That said, if you were to skip over this chapter entirely, you wouldn't be completely lost, but putting the pieces together wouldn't be easy.

As Red would say, so... shall we get started?

Disclaimer: I have zero affiliation with both The Blacklist and Boston Legal.

Chapter Eight

Red wasn't often at a loss for words, but then again, he wasn't often in a situation like this, either. In an effort to buy himself a moment to think it over, he excused himself to use the men's room. He promised Denny that he would return with another round of scotch, knowing it would buy a little more time.

Red's mind raced to weigh his options.

He could change the subject, then call Lizzie to break the news. "Turns out, Tom was right. Your biological father is alive. Actually, he's Denny. Will you fly out to Boston tomorrow for a paternity test, just to be sure?"

Eh.

He could also change the subject with Denny, then call Lizzie and try to convince her to fly in without saying why. That seemed a little back-handed. Red didn't want her to feel manipulated. Would it be better if he admitted that he had something serious to discuss, but would prefer to do it in person? She'd want to know why he couldn't just tell her when he came home. How would be respond to that? Beg her to trust him, and promise that she would soon understand his reasons? That approach would likely stir up unwelcome memories of their early interactions.

Red certainly didn't want that.

On the other hand, he could first divulge the news to Denny, and then call Lizzie after. But what if he's wrong? What if the girl in the photograph wasn't Lizzie? It wasn't inconceivable that Lizzie could have an unknown half-sister. It would be unconscionable to get Denny's hopes up only to shatter them.

That would destroy him.

There was also one entirely different approach. Red could quietly gather the necessary DNA evidence, and then order an expedited paternity test. If they match, he'll tell them. If they don't, no one needs to know. No harm, no foul.

Yes. That appeared to be the safest route. Resuming a normal conversation with Denny would be no easy feat. Red could only hope that he was up for it.


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.

Chapter 9

Red slowly ambled back outside, a tumbler of scotch in each hand. From the doorway, he could see that Denny was looking at the picture of Lizzie (or Anna?) on the swingset again. The moonlight reflected off of the single tear that escaped from Denny's eye, and to safeguard his friend's dignity, Red paused for a moment before approaching while Denny dabbed it away with his sleeve.

Red took his seat and slid the scotch in Denny's direction, offering a reassuring smile as Denny tucked the photograph back into his coat pocket. Soon, Red would change the subject. He only had two more questions to ask.

"Denny, I hope you don't mind, but if I'm to help you with this, I need to ask just two more questions. Is that okay?"

"Spit 'em out, Ray. We both know you aren't really asking for my permission."

Red chuckled. "I've really missed your no-nonsense candor. In my line of work, nothing disturbs me more than the forced congeniality, especially since it comes so easily to me. You know, I'm not proud of it."

"Raymond, that makes two of us. I am a lawyer, you know. Denny Crane," he replied with a wink.

"Yes, so you are. Very well. Do you know the name of the man who raised Anna? The man in the photograph, I mean. Any known aliases?" This was somewhat disingenuous to ask, because Red already knew the answer. He wasn't ready to tell Denny that, however, and Denny would certainly expect him to ask.

"His name was Lucas Mahone. The only alias I know of is Jeffery Smart, but he probably had others."

Red nodded thoughtfully. His next question was genuine, and technically was more than one, but they were related. "Was Anna ever given any aliases? Is it possible that Anna was one of them? Could her mother have given you the wrong name?" He paused, giving his friend a moment to let the inquiries sink in before he went on to explain, "This won't be an easy search. I have to think outside of the proverbial box and explore any conceivable possibilities." Red sighed heavily. He was pretty buzzed, but not buzzed enough to make this easy.

Denny took a long drag from his cigar and hesitantly shook his head. "I can't say I've ever considered the possibility. Why would they even give her an alias? She was only a child."

Well, Red thought, Lizzie would remember if her name had been Anna. After he carried her out of the flames, she told Red her name. It was neither Elizabeth, nor Anna. Sam had hastily given her the name 'Elizabeth', to protect her anonymity, and Red procured all of the documentation to match it. He got her birth certificate, vaccination records, dental records, and social security card. Everything. None of it was real, but Liz didn't find out about that until after Sam's death. The fakes were so good that even the FBI couldn't discern them from real documents. Lizzie had always known that she was adopted, but again, for her safety, she wasn't aware of the unconventional nature of her adoption. On the fateful night that they met, she told Red that her name was Summer. If Lizzie is actually Denny's daughter, then her mother must have lied about her name. Either that, or they changed it while she was still too little to remember. That was quite possible, given that she was only a baby when Denny met her.

But why? If her birth name was Anna, why did they change it? To keep Denny from finding them? Her mother didn't seem too worried about that, since she sent the photos from the places they lived each time. Maybe it was for the same reason that Sam had to change her name: To protect her from her fake father's enemies and associates. And hell, Red himself was counted among the former.

Red leaned forward, hoping to reassure Denny by conveying his sincerity. "I can't speak to the motives if her mother lied to you or changed her name. If she did, I can only assume that she had a reason. Hopefully, a good one."

"Raymond, I want to thank you for pushing me to share. I had become so accustomed to carrying this burden that I hardly noticed how heavy it was. It was my 'normal'. Thanks to you, the load has lessened. You've given me something that I nearly forgot how to feel. Hope. If anyone can help me, it's you. Thank you for offering your assistance." The last sentence came out strained.

"You're welcome, but you still need to be warned. It's possible that I won't be able to find her, and that's if she's even still alive. I have a feeling that she is, but I can't qualify that feeling with anything concrete. I can't tell you not to have hope, but I'm begging you, please do your best to not let it mount too high."

"Don't you think that should go without saying?"

"Perhaps, but I'd be remiss not to say it. There are few who understand the burden of loss as much as I do, and even worse, not knowing if it's a true loss at all. I've spent the last two decades on a quest for truth, and I still haven't figured it all out. There's no way I could see you in this state and not try to help."

"Your persistence is admirable."

Red shrugged. "Or maybe I'm just really bad at this and haven't realized it yet."

At that, the conversation finally drifted to lighter topics. After a final round of drinks, they decided to call it a night. When they stood up to leave, Red took his time pushing his chair in, meticulously aligning it with the center of the table. That bought him a moment to smoothly slide Denny's empty tumbler into his coat pocket, while Denny headed toward the door, assuming Red was in tow.

The men heartily embraced near the patio doorway. "Your towncar's waiting out front. Swing by my office tomorrow whenever you'd like. Thank you, Raymond."

"It's my pleasure. After all this seriousness, we still need our night of fun. As delightful as it was in some moments, this doesn't count. We'll have to come up with another idea when I get to your office tomorrow."

"I couldn't agree more! Night, Ray."

Red's lips tightened when his eyes met Denny's. "Goodnight, Denny. See you tomorrow."

In the back seat of the towncar, Red began making plans in earnest. With Denny's DNA sample still in his coat pocket, his next step was acquiring Lizzie's sample. But how? The usual routes weren't possible in this situation. Hairbrush, toothbrush, cigarette butt, drinking glass, lipstick, eating utincil, chewing gum. None of it. He'd have to get creative.

THE LINT ROLLER! He never traveled without one. There's no point in spending thousands on a suit, only to let it gather fuzzy bits of lint and hair. With a little luck, it could have one of Lizzie's hairs stuck to it. Despite having the very best of intentions, Red didn't like the idea of being so sneaky.

It was too late to call her, and Red desperately wanted to hear her voice. Wallowing in the pain of their geographical distance, he was suddenly assaulted by the memory of Sam's death, and how he called her after it was done. Despite knowing it was too late, he offered to help her. It was a ruse, hailing from the only man who never lied to her. He never lied, but he was disturbingly close that time. It didn't matter that Lizzie was so cross with him, and despite Sam's cancer, it wasn't entirely for his sake. Red killed him to shield Lizzie from the truth. He needed the reminder that it was worth it. He needed the comfort of just hearing her voice.

That phone call was a selfish indulgence, and though to a much lesser degree, Red found himself feeling the very same impulse all over again. This time, he would control himself. This time, he wouldn't turn her into a living bandage.

Tomorrow, he whispered aloud to himself. He'll call her tomorrow.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's note: Two updates within a day! Gotta love it. Hopefully the "stream of consciousness"-style of this chapter won't bore anyone. Red's just a ruminator. He thinks about everything, and I wanted to convey that.

Disclaimer: I have no secret ties to the blacklist or boston legal, and I'm not getting any sort of monetary gain.

**Chapter 10**

Thanks to his unfettered Bacchanalian indulgence, Red was actually able to catch a few hours of much-needed sleep. His first waking thought was of Lizzie, which of course was nothing new. He glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand, sighing and scratching his head. It was probably still too early to call her. He could wait.

That consideration of time wasn't extended to the man testing the DNA samples. Without even asking why, Dembe delivered them right after Red's return the previous night. By noon, Red would hold the answers in his hand. Wearing only his boxers and an undershirt, he paced the perimeter of the suite.

Upon further consideration, Red decided to hold off on calling Lizzie until he had the results. She knew him far too well, so she'd probably detect that something was up. Red didn't want to put himself in the position of having to deflect her concern, and without answers, that's exactly what he'd have to do.

He spent the meantime plotting out the potential repercussions of a positive match. What would this mean to Lizzie? Would she be angry for being robbed of so much time with him? Would she blame Denny for not insisting on shared custody with her mother? Would she say that he didn't try nearly hard enough to find her? Denny would probably agree with that sentiment, no matter how untrue, Red thought ruefully.

Red loathed the idea of introducing another element of surprise to Lizzie about her past, just when she had finally found peace. Just when she thought that she knew who she was, leave it to Red to knock her down again. Leave it to Red to kickstart yet another endless circle of questions about anything and everything.

But if Denny is her father, it's also a gift, really. Even if Lizzie doesn't see it at first, finding her biological father, even if only by accident, could potentially be one of the best things Red had ever done for her.

And Denny is a good man. His freakishly vast collection of firearms may be a little off-putting, but he was mostly harmless. The guns are really just an eccentricity. It was one of many, in fact, and Red had more than a few eccentricities himself. Perhaps Denny was still into horses. A lifetime ago, they'd once vacationed together at a dude ranch. It was hell! He wondered if Denny still kept in touch with that detestable windbag, Melvin Palmer. That's a man Red would be happy to never see again. Lizzie's seemingly-innate love for all things equestrian suddenly made sense though. She and Denny could bond over their mutual love of horses! Oh god, Denny would love that. Wouldn't Lizzie? Hopefully.

There was yet another concern Red had to contend with. Would Denny be territorial over Lizzie? He knew firsthand about Denny's capacity for that. Red only joked about wanting to sleep with Shirley. He didn't even want to think about what Denny would have done if Red had actually been serious. They wouldn't be friends. They wouldn't be reconnecting. Lizzie wouldn't ever learn the truth.

So, what could Red possibly say about this? "Denny, I've found your daughter. Oh yes, and I'm sleeping with her. We're madly in love. I intend to marry her. Can I count on you to give her away at our wedding? I know how much you love an open bar. You and Shirley can make love in the coat-check closet. It'll be just like old times!" Perhaps that's a little too verbose, but verbosity almost always served him well.

It wasn't the worst idea he'd ever had. It was the truth, and nothing less than the truth would do. He wouldn't word it so crassly, of course, but their truth is a positive thing. Wouldn't Denny be anxious to make his little girl happy? Red could only hope.

If push came to shove, he was even willing to lay out a guilt trip. He'd accuse Denny of making a negative indictment on his character, and he wasn't above getting hyperbolic about his hurt feelings. It would only be somewhat disingenuous. His feelings really would be hurt, and Denny should see that. Deeming Red unworthy of his daughter would suggest that Denny also perceives Red to be untrustworthy. That would be a swift kick in the gut, especially after Red trusted Denny to review his immunity deal.

Of course they could still marry, even without Denny's blessing, but that was besides the point. Denny's disapproval alone would cast a pall over what was meant to be one of the happiest days of their lives. Lizzie deserved all the happiness in the world, and Red prided himself on the lengths he would go to insure that she had it. This was no exception.

Red was pulled from his trance by a startling knock on the door. It was Dembe, with the DNA test results in his hand. Red grabbed it without hesitation, and Dembe made an immediate about-face exit to give Red some privacy. He trusted that Red would discuss it with him when the time was right. He always did.

This was it, finally. The moment of truth! He sat on the bed, leaned forward, and rested his head on the hand that wasn't holding the letter. He hastily opened the envelope and allowed his eyes to rapidly devour its contents. Red groaned in frustration and took a deep breath.

The samples didn't match.


	11. Chapter 11

Author's note: You might hate me a bit after that last chapter. I'm sorry! Please keep reading. I promise that I'm going somewhere with this, and it will be warm and fluffy and happy!

And one more thing: This is almost definitely the result of poor writing on my part, but there seems to be some confusion regarding who knows about what in this story. Maybe I'll go back and make a few changes at some point, for the sake of clarity, but in the meantime, I hope you guys won't mind if I just break it down here so I can get on with the story more quickly. Denny doesn't actually think that Lizzie could be his daughter. All Denny knows is that Red's lover is a beautiful young woman whose birthday is on the same week as his long-lost daughter's. Lizzie looks a lot like how he imagined his daughter would look when she grew up, but that's only speculation. It's too much of a coincidence and the odds are too slim for Denny to actually think it could be true. While his lawyering skills helped him detect something suspicious about Red's behavior, Denny hasn't put his finger on why. When Red offered to use his criminal connections to help Denny find out what happened to his daughter, Red didn't let on that he believes that Anna could be Lizzie. Denny also doesn't know that Red recognized the man in the photo with his daughter. In Chapter 8, Red did consider telling him, but ultimately decided against it because he didn't want to prematurely get Denny's hopes up. At the end of Chapter 9, Red had to take the empty tumbler without being seen because Denny doesn't know about the DNA test. He had to use the lint roller for Lizzie's DNA sample because he hasn't told her about it either. He can't risk getting their hopes up only to shatter them. This is all just typical Red-always going the distance and pulling out all the stops to protect his loved ones.

Make sense? I hope that didn't come across as patronizing. Like I said, any confusion is almost certainly my fault. This was just the easiest way to clarify everything.

And thank you again for all the reviews. I love you guys!

Chapter 11

Red was still sitting on the bed in his suite, DNA results in hand, trying to decide how he should proceed. No match.

That stupid lint roller had his own hair, Hudson's hair, and even cat hair-presumably one of Hudson's barn companions. What it did not have is Lizzie's hair. No sample? No match.

Now what? Red's left hand clenched into a fist while the fingers of the right tapped out an uneven, staccato beat on the nightstand. It didn't take very long for him to make a decision. He leaped up from the bed and practically skipped around the suite while he dialed Lizzie and waited for her to answer.

Lizzie picked up on the second ring. "Hey, you! How was your dinner with Denny last night?"

"It was nice, but I think we probably drank a little too much. I miss you." He could picture her nearly rolling her crystal blue eyes at his immature antics.

"Let me guess. You got hammered and decided to LITERALLY paint the town RED, and then Denny sweet-talked the magistrate into letting it slide? How many felonies did you get away with this time?" Red loved that jestingly-judgemental tone.

"I knew I shouldn't have told you that story! And for the record, I always learn from my mistakes. We used blue paint this time."

Lizzie couldn't help laughing. "My little bon vivant! I should have guessed."

"Hey!" Red feigned offense. "I am many things. 'Little' isn't one of them!"

Liz slowly shook her head, as if Red could see it. "I dunno about that. It's been a few days. It seems I've forgotten..."

"Oh, my heart! First I'm little, and now I'm forgettable too?" They were only joking, but since it really had been a few days, that was enough to take Red's mind to places that it was difficult to return from.. on his own, anyway.

"Y'know, Red, if you'd let me teach you how to use the camera on your phone, you could easily defend... yourself." She hummed for a few seconds, quite satisfied with herself.

Red lowered his voice by a carefully-measured amount, hitting the notes that he knows are enough to drive her crazy. "That's okay, Sweetheart. I don't need to defend myself. I'll accept a photographic apology from you, instead. Pornographic, preferably. Give me something to think about in the shower, Lizzie." Every 's' came out like a hiss. Every vowel sounded like an exhale of baited breath. Red paused, waiting for her to rebuke him. At the faint sound of her breath catching, he licked his bottom lip. "You still haven't said anything. Does that mean you're taking a photo right now?"

Liz sighed, exasperated. "This could go on all day."

"Hmmm... that's the spirit..." She was right about that.

"Well I don't have time!" She took a calming breath. "I am looking forward to having an unforgettable experience when you come home, though.."

Ohhh yes, Red thought to himself. "Well, I'm looking forward to giving it to you..."

.

"You are ALWAYS looking forward to giving it to me."

Well yeah, but god, she's so distracting. He did call for a reason, after all, and it had nothing to do with photos for beating off in the hotel shower.

"You say that like it's a bad thing! Okay, allow me to redirect. Have I ever told you that Denny rides?"

Lizzie laughed out loud, shaking her head in wonder. "That was a good 180. Wow.. Um, I'm not sure. I think you may have mentioned it at some point. Yes."

"I'd like to invite him and Shirley to come visit us soon. We'll stay at the farm. You guys can go riding. We'll go fishing. Maybe we can finally take that tour of In Vino Veritas?" He paused in the middle of the room, holding his breath, preparing to offer a bribe if necessary.

"Okay love, sure. That sounds great. BUT..."

Oh no. Here it comes.

"Only if I get to see you in a pair of waders." Lizzie practically sang the words.

Red knew she was grinning from ear to ear. If she was standing, she was probably jumping up and down too. She had him. She had him and she knew it.

Red sighed, "So basically, you want me to wear a waist-high condom with shoulder straps?"

"Would it make you feel better if I told you it would turn me on?"

"Quite."

"Alright. I'll say it when I see it."

"I'll extend the invitation to Denny and Shirley this afternoon. Thank you, Lizzie."

"Of course. Honey, when are you coming home?"

"Tomorrow, and I want you waiting in my bed and ready for me when I get there."

"Just don't make me wait too long."

"Oh, I won't. I'll call tonight to let you know what Denny says. I love you."

"Okay. I love you too! Bye."

Red hung up the phone and tossed it on the bed. Having a solid plan was such a relief.

Step one? Shower.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer - I don't own any part of The Blacklist or Boston Legal

Author's note: I cannot thank you enough for the sweet reviews. They absolutely make me so happy I can't! In this chapter, Red extends an invitation for Denny and Shirley to come visit himself and Lizzie. I'd also like to apologize, because this is the necessary evil that is a transitional chapter. It probably isn't the most entertaining, but it isn't unbearable, so fear not!

NOW, with that said, I'd like to forewarn you guys about the chapter after this one (chapter 13) It's gonna take a nosedive into the gutter. Smuttsville, here we come! Be sure to check your ratings filter, of you'd like to read it. I'll put another warning at the beginning.

**Chapter 12**

After Red ended his phone call with Lizzie, he rang Dembe, and asked that he join him in his suite. Moments later, Dembe entered with his own key card, and offered Red a small smile. It seemed that Red was finally going to bring him into the loop, and he was more than a little curious. Whatever it was, it was serious. That much was obvious.

Red stood to greet his closest associate and friend, and beckoned toward the chaise lounge, "Please sit." He then paced the room, gesticulating as he unraveled the events from the previous day, from start to finish.

"So, we'll run another test when we get back tomorrow?" Dembe asked.

"That's the plan."

Dembe's eyes narrowed. "We're not gonna have to kill Denny, are we?"

Red's face snapped forward, sharply, and he broke into laughter when he saw Dembe's grin. "You almost had me for a second."

***BLBLBL***BLBLBL***BLBLBL***

An hour layer, Red strolled back into the newly-dubbed Crane, Schmidt &amp; Crane. He looked around the busy office with interest, hoping to catch a glimpse of Denny's son, Donnie.

No luck. Perhaps he was in court.

As he rounded the corner near Denny's office, he spied a thin-haired, suited man standing on top of a desk, while a blonde woman with an English accent shouted at him from the doorway. Red smiled and said, "Good afternoon," to her, when she saw him walking by and sharply turned toward him. Her cheeks instantly flushed with embarrassment. "Oh, hello. Excuse me." She went into the office and hurriedly closed the door behind her.

Red chuckled at the scene as he stepped into Denny's office.

"Raymond! Welcome back." Denny greeted him, rising from his seat behind his large desk. He gestured toward a leather sofa, "Here, please have a seat." He rounded the corner of his desk and sat down on the opposite end.

"Is Hands on the desk again?" Denny asked.

"Hands?"

"I heard Katie yelling, and then you came in laughing. You see a man standing on his desk?" Denny said, as if it was self-explanatory

"I did."

"Hands Espenson. He has... things, he does, like that. Katie keeps him in line." Denny said with a shrug.

"Ah! Well, we all need someone..." Red momentarily trailed off, nodding. "Speaking of someone, I've given it some thought, and I'd like you to meet mine."

Denny leaned forward, "Meet your... Liz?"

"I'm inviting you and Shirley to Virginia. Tell me, Denny, do you still ride?"

Denny's eyes lit up. "What? Yes! Of course!"

"Lizzie has a horse, Hudson. He's boarded on a huge farm, a little south of DC. It belongs to a trusted business associate. Lizzie and I frequently stay in the guest cottage. It's quite large for a cottage, actually. I'm not sure about Shirley.. but I think you'll love it."

"Raymond, that sounds great! English or Western?"

"I'm not..."

"Does Liz ride English or Western?"

"Oh! Forgive me, you know I haven't ridden since that disaster at the dude ranch. I believe Lizzie rides English."

"Hmph." Clearly that wasn't the answer he was hoping for.

"But they have a lot of horses. I'm sure at least one can go Western style for you. I'll see to it, for my flamingo." Red really had no idea if any of the other horses went Western, but it didn't matter. He'd lease one from someone else and have him boarded with Hudson for the week, if he had to. "And since I won't be riding with you, I was hoping you'd be up for some fly fishing." With a wink, he added, "Lizzie's dying to see me in a pair of waders."

"This is going to be great!" He was practically bouncing up and down on the sofa.

Red nodded and smiled, "Excellent. I can't wait. Talk to Shirley, and give me a call. I'm hoping you can make it next week, but whenever is your earliest convenience will be fine for us. I understand that you probably have cases that you're working on."

"Name on the door! Denny Crane! Nothing wrong with pawning off a case or two to someone else. That's why we have partners and junior associates."

"Like Hands?" Red asked, nonplussed.

"Yes, yes! Exactly."

***BLBLBL***BLNLBL***BLBLBL***

Back in Virginia, Lizzie was anxiously awaiting Red's return. She had just finished a long ride, and had Hudson hooked up to crossties in the barn's breezeway. As much as Lizzie loved to ride Hudson, she enjoyed grooming him almost as much. The methodical process was almost as soothing for her as it was for him.

Her other favorite part was the way it inspired her to talk. She spoke aloud to Hudson, about almost anything and everything. She let her innermost thoughts and feelings rise up to the surface, and her beloved companion flicked his ears around, intently listening to every word. She almost swore that Hudson could even understand her.

"I really miss Red. You'll never guess what I bought for tonight. I got the sexiest little nightie. It's red silk, of course, and the babydoll style gives it the slightest bit of feminine innocence. My favorite part is the bust. It has corsage-style boning that pushes my boobs up high enough to uh well, prove their very existence."

Hudson softly knickered.

"I hope Red likes it, especially since I don't do this kind of thing very often. I intend to totally rock his world. If I get my way, we'll, stay in bed all weekend."

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	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: Well, here's the highly-anticipated reunion between Red and Liz. As promised, this is straight-up smut. In fact, that's all it is. If you don't wanna read Lizzington smut, please click the back button. That's the extent of your warning. Hopefully it lives up to everyone's expectations. I apologize for making you guys wait for so long. If you've stuck around this far, thank you! And as always, I'm extremely grateful for reviews.

This chapter is for SIMONE! If this doesn't help to mend that break, then I don't know what will. Either way, I hope you heal up fast.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, and I'm not getting paid, either.

**Chapter 13**

Red and Dembe touched down on a private airstrip in Orange County, Virginia at 7 PM the following night. The drive to the farm only took about thirty minutes, but Red was beyond impatient, and Dembe's careful driving was grating his nerves. He wanted a scotch, but held off, for Lizzie. It wasn't as if a drink would cause performance issues, but Red intended to, ahem, perform, several times that night. He asked Dembe to drop him off at the door and not bother unloading the car. Dembe would stay the night in the main house, so Red and Lizzie could have the cottage to themselves.

Lizzie saw the headlights of Red's black Mercedes slowly approaching on the long gravel driveway, and she was all dressed up (or dressed down?) and waiting for him. When the car reversed and pulled away, she opened the front door a few inches and leaned against the door frame, flashing a bare leg at Red. She saw his shoulders suddenly straighten at the sight. He licked his lips and quickened his pace.

"I thought I told you to be waiting for me in bed." He growled

Lizzie took a couple steps back, giving him a moment to see what she was wearing. It was just a simple black silk robe, but his eyes glazed over with lust.

"And I was going to, but.." she replied, and slowly untied the robe and let it fall to the floor. "I wanted to do this," she added, spurred on by Red's hissing intake of breath at the sight of her new lingerie.

With two quick steps, Red crossed the space between them and lifted her up by the waist. Lizzie instantly wrapped her legs around his torso, mostly supporting herself while he pressed her against the wall and laved her neck with his open mouth.

She began to work on his tie, which he had fortunately loosened already. "God, you look so good in red." He moaned into her mouth. She raked her nails down the nape of his neck, and he growled, "but red looks better IN you." His words seemed to have his desired effect. The grip of Lizzie's thighs around him loosened, and she slid down a couple inches before he caught her, slamming her against the wall with his hips.

Now that she could feel him, it was all she felt. Her fingers couldn't manage the buttons on his shirt. She squeezed her thighs and sank her teeth into his shoulder, willing him to grind against her harder. "Red!" she gasped.

He held onto Lizzie as he slowly stepped back from the wall. He rested his forehead against hers and gazed into her eyes while he carried her to the bedroom, navigating the dark halls by memory. When he lowerered her to the bed on her back, he pulled her knees apart and tried to crawl between them, but Lizzie quickly rolled to the side instead. She stood beside him and pushed his shoulders to make him lay on his back. "Me first!"

Well, he wasn't going to stop her.

Lizzie straddled his waist and successfully managed to unbutton his shirt. With a flick of her wrist, she gestured for him to take it off, and scooted backwards to unbuckle his belt, intentionally brushing her palm over him a few times in the process, smiling at the reflexive jerk of his hips.

"I don't know if I should be disappointed that I don't get to undress you, or-" Red gasped when she lowered his zipper.

Lizzie pressed a finger to his lips, effectively shutting him up. He smirked, but his lips quickly went slack when she wrapped her hand around him, over his pants. She slid back and gestured for him to lift his hips, and she pulled off both his pants and boxers at once. She slowly crawled back up to his face, sliding her red lace-clad breasts over his stomach and up to his chest.

Rather than straddle him, she laid at his side, propping her head up on her elbow, and slowly lowered her mouth to kiss him, simultaneously lifting her knee and sliding it up his bare legs, encouraged by his tensing muscles. While she opened her mouth for his tongue, she combed her fingers through the soft hair on his lower belly. Red gently bit down on her lower hip, trying to spur her into further action, but Lizzie wasn't having it. She inched her thigh up a little more, less than an inch from his swollen arousal.

Ever the cheeky devil, Red sneakily slid his hand over to brush against her center, eliciting a startled, throaty moan, but Lizzie quickly pulled back from his reach. "I said ME FIRST." Red wasn't in the least bit apologetic. He just gazed at her with heavy-lidded eyes, offering a silent challenge.

Lizzie covered his mouth her hand. "Lick my palm," she commanded. Without changing his expression, Red complied, not letting on that he was vaguely confused and curious about the odd request. She took the moistened palm from his mouth and quickly replaced it with her lips. Without breaking the kiss, she finally wrapped her fingers around him. His soft moans made her respond in kind, intimately sharing his breath. She dropped her head to the crook of his neck as she slowly began to stroke him. She gradually tightened her grip, relishing in his heat as his pumping blood made him even harder. When his breathing became shallow, she began to lick and suck on his neck. Red's hips bucked, and her tongue found his pulse.

Within minutes, she could tell that he was close to asking her to stop. At the hitch in his breath, she removed her hand. Red groaned-an involuntary protest, and Lizzie dropped her hand further to knead his tense quadriceps. She braced herself on her elbow and straddled his waist. Lacing the fingers of both hands with his, she gradually slid down the bed until she had him at eye level. She paused for a moment, just letting her breath cascade over him while she maintained eye contact.

When she could see the desperate agony in his eyes, Lizzie knew that Red was seonds away from begging. Suddenly compelled by mercy, she lowered her lips and took just the tip into her mouth. Without taking him in further, for several seconds, she stroked the underside with her tongue. Red tightened his grip on her hands, and she lowered her mouth another inch. Again, she only used her tongue to stroke him, but she began to gently suck as well. Red's entire body trembled. She pulled back and immediately plunged down as far as she could.

Red tried to still his shaking hips, but as Lizzie picked up the pace, he found it impossible. Her eyes were still fixated on his, commanding his full attention, as if she didn't already have it. Every time he hit the back of her throat, Liz overcame her gag reflex by swallowing. When she finally released both his hands and his eyes, Red threw his head down and arched his back.

"Lizzie, stop. I'm gonna-"

He was cut off by Lizzie tightening her lips around him.

"Lizzie please," he tried again.

She responded by going faster and humming. Red suddenly realized that it was okay to let go. She wanted him to come, and he was powerless to stop himself. Red moaned and gripped the pillow behind his head. Lizzie could feel the pulsing throb of his orgasm, and found herself moaning along with him. She swallowed it, and rested her head on his stomach while he came down from his orgasmic high.

Red combed his fingers through her hair, gazing fondly at the woman who insisted on pleasuring him first. Within a few short minutes, he beckoned her to crawl up to lay beside him. Knowing how desperate she was to pleasure him made him want more. He craned his head toward her neck and began to work it over with his lips and tongue. With a sudden jerk of his hips, Lizzie could feel that he was hard again.

"Lunch time for me already?" she said with a giggle.

Red rolled her onto her back and kneeled between her parted knees. He grabbed the straps of her red lace thong and slid them off. He placed open-mouth kisses on her pale inner thighs. Liz was shaking by the time he reached her center. When he grazed over her opening with his tongue, Lizzie stopped him.

"You know how much I love this, and normally I'd be happy to let you go on, but I need more than that. I need you, now."

Red lifted his head and lightly raked his teeth over her protruding hip bones. "Well," he said, sighing. He crawled forward to cover her body with his. "You know how much I love giving you what you want." He slipped his length across her sopping wet opening, and gently bit down on the underside of her breast. Lizzie sharply inhaled and bucked her hips. Finally, he reached down and guided himself inside of her. He slowly pressed in deeper, reveling in the feeling of her adjusting to his ample size. When he was completely in, Lizzie locked eyes with him and shuddered. Slowly, he slid back out, and pressed in again. As she increasingly thrashed, Red quickened his pace.

In his deepest voice, Red struggled to ground out, "Oh my god, Lizzie, you feel so good. You have no idea how much I love being inside of you." The vibrations skirting over her neck became the catalyst that made her scream his name in ecstacy while she soared as high as he could take her. She reached both hands downward to grasp his ass, holding him closely while she shook and pulsed around him. Soon, Red's eyes rolled back and he groaned into her mouth while he came inside of her.

When she caught her breath, Lizzie exalted, "God, that was amazing."

"YOU are amazing," Red replied.


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note: Hey guys! I'm sorry for the long wait, but I hope you'll find this new chapter humorous enough to somewhat make up for it. It centers around Liz's preparations for Denny and Shirley's arrival in Virginia. In my photo album, you'll find a picture of Liz's horse, Hudson, as well as Denny's horse, and his little friend.

As always, I still own nothing. If you're familiar with the Boston Legal episode titled "Happy Trails", you'll find a couple references to it in this chapter. Thank you for reading and reviewing!

-...-...-...-

Chapter Fourteen

Ever a fussy, somewhat spoiled man, Denny decided that he'd prefer to bring his own horse, an Andalusian stallion named Ruger. Several days before he and Shirley left, Denny phoned Red to inform him that the stallion would be trailered there, and that Red needed to have a private paddock and stall ready for his arrival. "Okay, no problem," Red told him, not understanding why it was such a big deal.

"His OWN paddock, Raymond," Denny asserted.

"I'm sure we can arrange that." Red shrugged his shoulders.

From across the room Liz watched him and laughed. She was endlessly amused by the way Red 'handled' his friend. He seemed to walk a line between placating and antagonizing, and jumped from one side to the other on a whim.

"Ruger is A STUD. I can't have him mounting every mare and gelding that he sniffs out, but he'll try. Thinks he's in charge of the herd, and he bites and kicks to make sure they know it. Don't let him!"

Red rolled his eyes. "Are we still talking about your horse, or are we talking about you now?"

"Very funny."

"Did you really name him after your gun?"

"Maybe. I didn't get to choose his registered name though. Can't even pronounce it."

"Well, I like it. And don't worry, Lizzie will be here to get him settled in. He'll be rested and happy by the time you guys get here." She narrowed her eyes at him, for not asking her first, but he was right. She'd gladly be there to help out.

"Sometimes he gets a little stir-crazy after a road trip, but he'll be fine after a good run. Oh! I almost forgot. Ruger goes nowhere without his companion. Do NOT separate them."

Red squinted, his brow furrowed, slightly taken aback. "His companion?"

"Eh... you'll see. Just keep 'em together." Denny replied.

-...-...-...-

The next afternoon, Red was off doing business while Liz set up the accommodations for Denny's horse. She started by filling a double-stall with a thick layer of sawdust. Hudson watched her curiously from his paddock, leaning against the fence and swishing his tail. He'd only ever seen Liz putting sawdust in his own stall, and THAT stall, he knew, was not his. It wasn't even in his barn.

Then, she filled two five-gallon water buckets, and hoisted them up to hang from their clips in the stall. 'On second thought...' She paused, wondering whether or not Ruger's companion would be tall enough to drink from the buckets. After a moment of consideration, she unclipped one and lowered it, just in case.

Knowing that Denny would need a place for Ruger's tack and grooming supplies, Liz cleared a nice space in the tack room, large enough to accomodate everything. When she came out empty-handed, heading towards Hudson, he neighed and stomped his hoof. She quickly realized that he probably wanted to go for a ride, and her heart broke a little.

"Sorry, handsome. We don't have time to ride. If they get here while we're out, I won't have a chance to give you a proper cool down."

As if unconvinced, he gently nudged her shoulder.

Liz sighed. "You're really trying to make me feel guilty, aren't you?" She reached up to comb her fingers through his forelock, pulling it away from his eyes. "I promise I'll make it up to you when Denny gets here. How does a nice, long trail ride sound?" She gave him an apologetic pat on the shoulder.

Hudson huffed and leaned into her touch.

"Hmmm..." she mused aloud. "I still need something to do until they get here. How about some light grooming, then?"

-...-...-...-

Two hours later, Liz realized that she actually would have had time to ride. She sighed. Poor Hudson. Would he be jealous when Ruger arrived? Do horses feel jealousy? She wasn't sure, but she didn't have to dwell on it for very long. Her heart almost skipped a beat when she heard the low crunch of an enormous trailer rolling down the gravel driveway, pulled by a huge truck that had been painted to match. She smiled and waved to the driver, pointing to show him where to park.

He stepped out and stretched his arms over his head. "Miss Keen?"

"Yes," Liz replied warmly, shaking his hand.

"Alistair Holden. I'm Ruger's trainer slash groom slash chauffeur," he quipped. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Liz could see Ruger's rump towering over the trailer's french doors. As if he sensed her staring, he started to paw at the floor, impatient from being cooped up on the road. "Hold your horses, buddy," she crooned, and then winced. "Pun not intended. Sorry."

Alistair disengaged the latches on one side of the door, while Liz did the same on the other. They lowered it slowly, so as not to startle the antsy stallion. As her gaze passed over the revealed passengers, her breath caught, and her eyes widened. "What is..." she trailed off, dumbfounded.

Ruger's companion was horse-like, somewhat... He stood at about half of the stallion's height, and his fur was shaggy and tan, with a dark brown dorsal stripe that ran from his short, spiky mane, to his wisp of a tail. It was his legs that gave Liz pause. Covered in black and white stripes, they looked as if they had been transplanted from another animal. Upon closer inspection, she noticed that he actually had even more stripes, across his shoulders and rump, but they were faint, as if sun-bleached.

"A zonkey," Alistair supplied. Noting her puzzled expression, he explained, "It's a donkey and zebra hybrid. In his case, a miniature donkey."

"Oh, cool! I didn't know that such a thing existed. Like a mule, right?" She grinned. "What's his name? Is he friendly?"

"It isn't very creative." He shook his head, chuckling. "His name's Zonkey, and he's a total puppy dog."

Ruger stomped again.

"He's adorable! I love the name. Maybe we should finish unloading them while we talk."

"Sure. Why don't you go ahead and grab Zonkey? I'll get Ruger."

"Sounds good." Liz agreed. She stepped up the ramp, speaking in a low, soothing tone. "Hey Zonkey, I hope you had a nice ride over." She offered her hand for him to sniff.

Deciding that he liked her, he blew a soft puff of air into her palm. "Good boy." She unclipped the cross-tie and pressed her hand against his chest, giving a gentle tug on his halter. "Back up. Baaack. Easy, boy." Zonkey obediently followed her instructions, unloading without issue.

Happy to be out, he tossed his head and pranced on the end of his lead. Liz took the hint and walked him in a wide circle around the trailer, allowing him to stretch his legs. "So," she asked the handler, "What can you tell me about Ruger? Any vices? Anything else I should know?"

"No vices, but he has a few quirks. With humans, his disposition is great. Friendly. Affectionate. He's a total people-pleaser, and loves to work. No, scratch that. He NEEDS to work. He's used to being ridden daily, but I already rode him this morning, so you'll at least have to ride him tomorrow, if Mr. Crane gets here the next day. Otherwise, expect him to start acting out."

"On that note, let's go ahead and put 'em in the paddock. I doubt he'd want to go from his trailer to his stall," Liz suggested.

Alistar agreed, "Good call."

"So... can he go English?"

"Yes, he can, but I'd advise against it. Mr. Crane would probably shoot you if he found out. You can lunge him instead, if you'd prefer. I have to say though, if you choose that route, you'll regret passing up the chance. You'll see what I mean in a sec."

"Thanks for the warning! I wouldn't put it past someone who named his horse after a gun manufacturer."

"Besides that... Keep him away from the other horses, and don't take him anywhere without his buddy. If you just leave the door open, Zonkey will follow. You don't even have to halter him, if you don't want to."

Liz opened the gate to the small, empty paddock, and lead Zonkey through it. Unbuckling the throat latch on his halter and slipping it off, over his ears, she turned back towards Alistair and Ruger. "What about riding though? Can he deal with other horses under the saddle? I can still ride with Denny, right?" She pointed to her coal black horse, still eyeing her every move. "That's him, Hudson."

The handler turned and closed the gate behind him before slipping off the stallion's halter. "'Him', you said? He's beautiful. Arabian, right? As long as you aren't riding a mare in heat, and you keep about ten feet apart, especially from his back end, you'll be fine."

Liz finally had a chance to get a good look at the stallion. They leaned against the railing, watching as Ruger broke from a stand-still to a full gallop. Denny's stud was a tall, proud beast. Even at a gallop, his muscular neck arched high, with his muzzle tucked in towards his chest.

His dapple grey coat shined in the late afternoon sun, and his long, silvery mane and tail whipped back in the wind he created. Smooth gaits? Yes, absolutely. Ruger floated and flew.

Liz turned her attention to Zonkey, who was cantering in earnest, much smaller circles. His head bobbed up and down with every stride. "Such a comical little thing. He looks like a Zonkey," she said, referring to his name. Curious about Red's reaction, she slipped her phone from her back pocket, snapped a photo of the little guy, and sent it to him.

"Well, I guess we should go ahead and unload their tack and feed. You probably have a long drive ahead of you," Liz said.

"No need, actually. Mr. Crane wants me to unhitch the trailer and leave it here. I'll be staying at a motel in Culpeper until it's time to head back to Boston." His gaze swept from her legs to her face. "If you need anything at all, my phone number is taped to the lid inside the tack trunk."

Nice try. Liz nodded politely. Alistair obviously knew nothing about Raymond Reddington.

Not quite getting the reaction he'd hoped for, he went on, "As well as their feed instructions, supplements, first aid kit, and grooming supplies. His mane tangles easily, but if you're tempted to braid it, don't. Mr. Crane would have a cow."

Liz shoved her hands into her pockets. "Hmm... is it my imagination, or is Denny a little on the difficult, prickly side? You haven't painted the prettiest picture of him."

"Oh no! No, he's great. He might seem a little demanding at times, but that's only because he has very strong and specific opinions about almost everything. I'm sure it's one of the reasons he's so successful."

Lord, that's some impressive back-peddling. Seems he doth protest too much.

"Ahh, I understand completely." Liz laughed, shaking her head. "Actually, I know someone who's exactly like that..." Ah, Raymond. She loves him. Adores him. Lives for him.

"Then I'm sure you'll get along just fine. Besides, Mr. Crane loves beautiful women."

She laughed. "Now this, I've heard."

It took less than a minute for Alistair to unhitch the trailer. He extended a hand for Liz to shake. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Liz. Remember, I'm just a phonecall away. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask."

"Sure, thank you."

-...-...-...-

In the early evening, Red arrived to find Lizzie astride Hudson in the outdoor arena. As if she had intentionally timed it to show off for him, she steered towards a jump, and Red paused to watch. In one fluid motion, she stood in the stirrups and leaned forward, giving Hudson the necessary rein to stretch his neck as he leaped. On the other side, she slowed him to a walk and patted his shoulder lovingly. "Good boy, Huds. Perfect."

Red took off his fedora and held it over his chest. "Majestic, sweetheart!" he called out to her. "If only that scuzzy former owner could see him now," he lauded.

Without being cued, Hudson turned and ambled towards him. Lizzie swept her bangs aside and grinned. "Why thank you! Did you get my text earlier?"

Red canted his head, squinting up at her through the setting sun. His lips stretched into grin. "I apologize for not replying, but yes, I did. Is it a zorse or a zonkey? I couldn't tell from the photo."

She pursed her lips, disappointed by his apparent lack of surprise. "You'll see. I have them set up with the broodmare stall and paddock. Nice and roomy. Walk with us."

As she lead the way, Red matched Hudson's pace. She wondered if Mombasa smuggled zebras and zebra hybrids. That might account for his muted reaction. Several yards from the fence, she cued Hudson to halt. The stallion neighed and trotted back and forth across the length of the fence, tossing his head. Zonkey stuck his head between the lowest slats of the fence, stretching out towards them.

"He's a little small for either a zonkey or a zorse, I think." Red observed.

"Miniature zonkey, and he wants you to pet him."

He shook his head. "No thanks. I'm afraid exotic animals don't take to me nearly as well as exotic women." He glanced up to see Liz scowling at him. "I'm going regret saying that, aren't I?"

She nodded. "Probably... Well, I'm gonna go ahead and cool him down and untack, and then I'll bring these guys in for the night. See you inside?"

Red rested a hand on her thigh. "Sure thing, sweetheart."

-...-...-...-

After Hudson was all settled for the night, happily munching on a fresh flake of hay, Liz headed back out to get Ruger and Zonkey. Instant panic set in when she found their paddock empty, and the gate wasn't even latched. Alistair never said anything about them being escape artists! She gritted her teeth, spinning in circles, in search of clues for which direction they took. Luckless, she ran towards their barn, and before she even stepped into the breezeway, she heard a high-pitched squeal, followed by child-like giggling. "Hey, that tickles!"

She slowed to a walk and silently crept towards the oversized broodmare stall, peeking at its occupants through the crack between the wooden slats, unseen. Liz's worry instantly vanished, and was quickly overtaken by pure amusement. Red must have decided to make up for his stupid comment by bringing them in for her. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the squeal that threatened to erupt from her lips at the sight. Red was petting a very blissed-out Ruger, right behind his ears, while Zonkey's lips fumbled over his back pockets, in search of a treat. What a cheeky little thing! Still giggling, Red finally turned to address the little would-be pickpocketer. "Seems you and Lizzie have something in common. No wonder she likes you so much."

Liz couldn't suppress her reactive snort, and the trio jumped in surprise. No more hiding now. She slipped through the partially-open sliding door and smirked. "I'm sure that Zonkey knows a nice ass when he sees one, but when I'm looking for a treat, I usually start with the button and zipper."

Red flashed her a rare, sheepish grin, and then quickly redonned the more familiar, cocky one instead. Still smirking, she crossed the space between them, and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Is that a subtle request?" he asked, and then dipped his head to give her a quick kiss.

Zonkey took advantage of the opportunity to check her pockets then. With her shirt untucked, he clumsily nuzzled beneath it, his lips fumbling and his whiskers tickling her skin. Taken by surprise, Liz squealed and jumped a little, finding herself firmly pressed against Red. He hummed in response, his eyes twinkling. "Or maybe not so subtle."

She tried to play it off, shrugging and kissing his jaw. Without letting go, she turned so that her back was towards the door again, safe from Zonkey's curious advances. "So... dinner?"

Oh, the tease, Red thought. Food was the last thing on his mind, but he gamely nodded. "Dinner."

Just then, Ruger grabbed Red's fedora and pulled it off of his head, clutching it between his teeth and bobbing up and down, waving the hat in the air. Red turned around to glare at him indignantly while Liz just stared. Effectively chastised, Ruger let go, and the fedora landed right on top of Zonkey's head, perched perfectly between his ears.

Even Red was stunned into silence, but he couldn't withhold a grin. Liz plucked it from the quirky fuzzball's head and looked it over quickly before returning it to its rightful location, on Red. "Just a little slobber. It's fine," she reassured him.

"You're enjoying this a little too much," he accused.

"Like you aren't? Anyway, I wasn't talking about our dinner. I meant theirs." She laced her fingers with his and pulled him through the door, carefully latching it behind them. "Come help. Their feed is in the trailer. And THEN, we can talk about our dinner, or... perhaps something else."

Oh yes, 'something else' sounded awfully good to him. "When I was a boy, I once rode a hat-wearing horse at a birthday party. His name was Thunderclap, and the hat had holes cut out for his ears."

"I bet it wasn't a fedora though."

He shook his head, chuckling. "No, it wasn't."


	15. Chapter 15

AN: Thanks to all for reading and reviewing! An enormous chunk of this chapter was accidentally deleted, and subsequently rewritten into (what I perceive as) an inferior version. Denny and Shirley are yet to arrive, but they will in the next chapter.

-...-...-

The poorly-insulated cottage was freezing in the early morning hours, and Liz had to wake at sunrise for a long day at work. She laid in the fetal position, with Red's nude form curled protectively around her, cocooning her in his warmth. When her alarm went off, she stirred only enough to swat at the snooze button. Red tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her flush against his chest as he groaned at the offensive interruption.

Liz's first waking thought was that she should have stayed at her home in the city, where she could have slept for another hour and a half. One of the farm's three cottages was occupied by two live-in stable hands, and she had given them Alistair's phone number to call in case of an emergency. In that hazy morning moment, she couldn't even recall why she'd decided to spend the night there in the first place.

Liz's second thought was that Red was a terrible influence. She'd spent half of her life hurtling face-first towards a career that no one falls into accidentally, but right there, in his arms, she couldn't have possibly cared any less about it. If Red didn't relinquish his hold the second time her alarm had sounded, she could have happily thrown it all away.

Okay, maybe not ALL of it...

... Which brought Liz to her third thought: She was woefully hyperbolic when sleep-deprived. Thank goodness that she didn't have any children.

-...-...-

At the end of her sixteen-hour workday, figuring out Ruger's western saddle, with its weird girth (or cinch or whatever cowboys called it) was truly the last thing Liz wanted to do. She dragged herself into the trailer and opened the tack trunk to examine its contents, hoping that she had been worried for nothing. She looped her forearm under the saddle's tree, gripping the horn with her other hand to lift it up, and with a throaty groan, she dropped it back into place again. Denny's ostentatious, chrome-adorned saddle had to weigh about fifty pounds.

Maybe she would have given it a try anyway, if Red had been there to help, but he wasn't. Alistair's warning echoed in her head, that Denny would be angry if he found out that his stallion had been ridden English style.

IF he found out.

Liz was planning to use the indoor arena, anyway. No one would ever know, right? And lucky for her, with all of the horses in for the night, even Hudson wouldn't be able to see her sneaking in to grab his saddle. Decision made, Liz slipped Ruger's bridle over her shoulder, grabbed his tote of grooming supplies, and snuck over to grab her favorite saddle.

She groomed both Ruger and Zonkey before slipping Hudson's saddle pad and then saddle onto the dapple grey mount. After tightening the girth, Liz stepped back to see how he looked. She walked a slow circle around him, examining his appearance from every angle. Something wasn't right.

The gap between the pommel and Ruger's withers was too large, and the tree was too narrow. Using it would put him at risk for blisters or soreness. Liz could have kicked herself. Denny's Andalusian was built much thicker than her Arabian. It was so obvious that even Zonkey seemed to be giving her a judgmental side-eye.

Well, fine, but she wasn't ready to fold just yet. Ruger let out a sigh as she slipped Hudson's saddle off of him. Eager to dispose of the evidence of her failure, she returned the saddle to the tack room, and by the time she returned, she had made a decision.

She'd just ride him bareback, of course.

Ruger eyed her suspiciously as she slipped the bridle over his head and the bit into his mouth, but he made no fuss over it. Just like Alistair said, Zonkey happily followed as she lead his friend from the stall.

It wasn't until she arrived at the indoor arena that she realized that mounting might be difficult without stirrups. After an unnecesary look around to be absolutely certain that no one would witness the graceless act, she dropped the reins, grabbed onto Ruger's withers, and scramble-climbed atop his back. He stood perfectly still for her, and Liz gratefully patted his shoulder. "Okay, that wasn't so bad, was it? You're a good boy."

She was also suddenly grateful for the Andalusian's low and wide withers, which suggested that her crotch was unlikely to be bruised. Red would probably appreciate that too.

After warming up with walking and some light trotting (or jogging?), she urged him into a canter (er, lope?). Liz's hair whipped back and streamed behind her as the cold air nipped her cheeks into a rosy pink. Within a short twenty minutes, she felt her quads and calves burning from the extra work demanded by riding bareback, but she didn't mind.

The arena's extra-wide door screeched as it suddenly slid open, spooking Ruger into a frenzied sideways leap. Liz grabbed onto his mane, nearly unseated. "Lizzie, are you okay?" Red called out to her. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to spook him."

Still trembling from the scare, Liz steered the stallion in his direction. "I'm fine. It's fine."

"You're not even wearing a helmet. You could have been killed!"

"I never wear my helmet," she replied.

"I know, but you should. I wish you would."

Liz eyed him, taking a deep breath as she calmed herself down, knowing it wasn't worth the argument. "Did you need something?"

His worry-turned-relief morphed into annoyance at the question. "No, not anymore. I came home and saw your car outside, but you were nowhere in sight. Would it have killed you to leave a note?"

"Only if not wearing a helmet didn't kill me first." Perhaps she should have apologized, but Liz wasn't in the mood.

Red couldn't help cracking a smile at her quick wit. "Ooooo, snarky."

Zonkey ambled over to him, and busied himself with digging into the large pockets of his overcoat. Finding them empty, he nudged Red's hand. "Are you telling me to pet you or to get you a treat?"

They were awfully cute together, Liz thought. "He probably wants both. You should pet him. Um, well, I guess we'll be finished up in here soon." She steered the stallion back towards the perimeter of the arena, and cued him into a canter. With Zonkey in tow, Red followed Liz halfway, coming to a stop in the center. He spun in a slow circle as he kept his shoulders squared towards her.

"Mind if I stay and watch?" he asked.

Liz sighed, knowing that he wouldn't accept 'no' for an answer. "Okay."

"I'm a little jealous, actually," he pouted, lips pursed.

Jealous? "Oh? Why's that?"

"I thought I was the only one you rode bareback." He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.

"Keep whining and next time, I'll ride you hard and put you away DRY instead of wet."

Red gasped. "Whoa whoa whoa! Hold your horses!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Ruger came to an abrupt, hoof-skidding halt, but inertia prevented Liz from doing the same. Launched forward without the stability of stirrups, she just barely managed to grab his mane in time to stay on. Rather than sitting back up again, she gathered the reins (which had become looped around her mount's ears), and gently wrapped her arms around the stallion's neck, crooning apologies into his ear.

It took Red several seconds to understand what he had just done. From the corner of her eye, Liz saw him approaching, but chose to ignore him. "Lizzie, sweetheart, I'm so sorry."

She briefly looked up to scowl at him, and then urged Ruger to go on. "You're here because of your concerns for my safety, and yet you alone have twice caused me to nearly fall."

"I know, and I'm sorry. Still, if you're thrown, no matter the cause, a helmet could save your life. I wish you'd reconsider."

Zonkey chose that moment to use Red's suit to scratch an itch on his muzzle, rubbing his face up and down Red's body, leaning against him so heavily that he nearly fell over.

Liz had to crack a smile. "Right. Well, if wishes were horses, beggars would ride."

Red saw an opportunity to humor her, and eagerly chased it. "I should have already known, when I bought it for you, that you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink."

Without missing a beat, Liz replied, "Enough with the helmet! You're just beating a dead horse."

He paused for a moment, in search of an appropriate reply. "It must be difficult to love a horse of a different color, like myself."

"No, RED, not usually. Don't worry, I won't be sending you off to pasture anytime soon."

Oh, she's good, he thought. "Pasture? Good. I'd much rather you retire me to stud."

"Look at you, turning horseplay back into foreplay again."

"Horses for courses, sweetheart. That's what I know. Now, about getting my turn.." Red trailed off suggestively.

"Are you asking me to hop on you now? The cart goes BEHIND the horse, dear, and not in front."

Red dramatically threw an arm across Zonkey's back. "Okay, I can't think of another. You win!"

She cued Ruger back down to a walk, ready to cool down. "Really? I could have gone all night."

Combing his fingers through Zonkey's spiky mane, Red looked up at her and winked. "Now, you're speaking my language..."

-...-...-...-

Lying in bed, the night felt backwards to Liz, somehow. Typically, after making love, she would quickly fall asleep, while Red slipped away to read and sip from a tumbler of scotch.

This time, woefully awake, she played the big spoon, idly combing her fingers through Red's chest hair as he almost immediately fell asleep. Liz fitted her forehead into the notch between his shoulderblades, intentionally syncing her breath with his, in hopes that it may lull her to sleep.

It didn't.

It wasn't long before she came to the conclusion that something needed to be worked out in her mind. Something nameless and faceless was sadisticly holding her hostage, and it was definitely about Red. It just had to be.

Something had been off about him lately. He was oddly... anticipatory? Nervous? Perhaps he was planning something, but if so, Liz could find nothing to suggest whether the plans were good or bad. She wondered if it was somehow tied with Denny's visit. That was the most obvious possibility, but without knowing why, it was tenuous at best. She swallowed the urge to wake him and ask, having learned long ago that Red never reveals anything until he's ready.

In the past, every time that Liz had found herself in a similar situation with Red, she couldn't help hoping that he was planning to propose to her. Of course, it always ended with a disappointed blow to her pride. Predictably, her mind went there once again.

Try as she might, her sleepless ruminations revealed little.


	16. Chapter 16

AN: Liz finally meets Denny Crane and Shirley Schmidt! The moment of truth is drawing near, very near, in the next chapter. Anyway, thanks for reading and reviewing. I hope you guys enjoy it.

**Chapter Sixteen**

Liz and Red were relaxing on the front porch swing when Dembe returned from the private airstrip with Denny and Shirley. They stood and walked over to the black Mercedes Benz, each opening a door for their visitors while Dembe opened the trunk.

"Lizzie, will you take our guests to see Ruger and Zonkey while Dembe and I bring in their luggage?" Red asked, planting a quick kiss on her temple.

It struck her as somewhat odd that Red would immediately leave her alone with his friends, but Liz didn't mind. They had plenty of things to talk about. She smiled and nodded. "Gladly."

Both Red and Dembe paused, watching them walk away, until they were safely out of earshot. With a click of his tongue, Red turned and said, "When we get inside, help me find Denny's comb or toothbrush. I want to get the samples to the lab as quickly as possible."

Dembe gave his friend's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Of course."

Each carrying two bags, they completed the task in a single trip. Within seconds, Dembe victoriously brandished Denny's toothbrush, and dropped it into the plastic bag that Red passed to him, along with Lizzie's hairbrush in a second bag.

"I've already contacted Gomez and lit a proper fire under him," Red said. "so he's expecting you, and additional threats to make haste won't be necessary."

"When and where do I pick up the results?"

"10 o'clock tonight, at Todd's Tavern."

Dembe's brow lifted, the corners of his lips slowly curling upwards into a grin. "That fast? Must have been a pretty big fire."

"Let's just say that with Gomez, I have a lot of kindling," Red replied, his grin matching that of his friend.

-...-...-...-

"They're outside right now," Liz told her guests. "Would you like to see their stall first?"

Her inquiry was met with only silence, as Shirley expected Denny to answer, and he seemed to have not even heard the question. After several seconds passed, Shirley elbowed him. "Denny? Stall or paddock first?"

"Huh? Um, it doesn't matter."

Liz offered a small smile. "Stall first, then." As she lead the way, she felt vaguely confused. Red had warned her that Denny was a shameless flirt, and that she'd probably have to brush off at least a handful of his comments within the first hour of his arrival. Clearly, that wasn't going to be the case. The man was yet to even make eye contact with her. Was it the mad cow? Considering their long-running joke of Red pretending to hit on Shirley, she had been prepared for the worst.

Needlessly prepared, it seemed.

"So, how did you guys end up with Zonkey? I didn't even know that zebras and donkeys could breed. He's such a spunky little thing."

Shirley answered, "Well, from the moment Ruger arrived in Boston, he was just... insane. I wasn't even sure if he was the same horse we bought in Spain. He was dangerous."

Denny grunted. "I knew it was him!"

Shirley shot him a glance that implied her doubt, and continued, "His previous owners tried to help, but none of their suggestions worked. We hired and fired three different trainers. He saw two vets. They all thought we should geld him, but Denny refused."

"You can't just cut off a bloodline like his. I'd rather send him back to Spain. Almost did." he said.

"Why did you buy a horse from Spain in the first place?"

"Andalusians are WAR horses, bred for strength and endurance! Too many died in battle though, in the 18th century, and then cross-breeding and disease muddied the gene pool."

"But they're still all over the world," Liz pointed out, hoping for further explanation.

"No, not exactly. Exports on Andalusians were restricted until the 1960s. If you want the finest, even now, you go to Spain."

With that remark, Liz concluded that he sounded a lot like Red. It takes more than money to be a connoisseur of anything, but piles of it are often needed just the same. She herself wouldn't know the difference between an Andalusian from Canada and an Andalusian from Spain, just as she wouldn't know the difference between one of Red's Loro Piana storm system coats and a knockoff.

They stepped into the barn's breezeway, and paused for a moment while Denny and Shirley took in the view. "It's this last stall over here, on the left," Liz said, and they slowly made their way over, peering into each stall they passed along the way. "So, how did all of that lead you to Zonkey?"

"Well, you met Alistair, right?" Shirley asked.

"I did. Nice guy. He seems very devoted."

"One of our clients recommended him, and he's been a lifesaver. Getting a buddy for Ruger was his idea, so we-"

"But SHE wanted to buy A COW," Denny incredulously interjected.

Shirley shrugged. "I had a pet cow when I was growing up. Her name was Bumpy."

They stepped into Ruger and Zonkey's stall, and as they looked around, Liz was glad that she'd fixed it up so nicely for their guests. "You lucked out. We have two broodmare stalls, but only one pregnant mare right now."

After his eyes scanned the perimeter of the stall, Denny finally lifted them to meet hers, and softly said, "It's perfect, Liz. Thank you."

She held his gaze for just a moment too long. "Don't mention it. Come on, let's go see 'em."

As they followed her lead, Shirley continued the story. "Zonkey wasn't our first pick. We started with a blind Shetland pony that we bought from an auction. The idea was that Ruger wouldn't perceive him as competition, and would therefore want to be his friend instead." She slowly shook her head and let out a heavy sigh. "I don't know why, but it didn't work. Alistair insisted that we try again."

Liz gasped. "Oh no! So you had to get rid of him? Who would want a blind pony?"

"Exactly, but no, my conscience wouldn't allow it. He has a new job, in a physical therapy program for handicapped children, and he's still boarded at Ruger's stable," Shirley answered.

Liz sighed, relieved. "What a great idea! I used to volunteer for a program like that, back in Nebraska."

"I wanted a zebra," Denny muttered.

"Is it even legal to own a zebra?" Liz wondered aloud.

He grunted and shook his head. "You know, I didn't expect Raymond's fiancée to be so concerned about the law."

Stunned, Liz's eyes widened. "Fiancée? We aren't engaged... and I wasn't judging you. I'm just curious."

"Oh, I thought Ray was gonna pr-"

"He's kidding," Shirley interjected, narrowing her eyes in warning.

Denny winked and pointed to his wife. "You'll have to watch out for the fun police over here."

Shirley ignored him. "Denny won Zonkey in a poker game."

"No, I won cash! Loser couldn't pay up."

"'That loser' is your friend, Denny, and his liquid assets had been frozen by the feds. He didn't even find out about it until he went to the bank to withdraw your winnings."

"So he gave you Zonkey instead?" Liz asked.

"No, no. Melvin invited us to his place, and told us to pick out something of equal value," Denny explained.

"But that was only AFTER you refused to give him any time to come up with the cash."

He feigned offense. "You paint an ugly portrait of me, Shirley."

As soon as Ruger and Zonkey spotted them, they broke into a gallop and skidded to a halt at the fence. Liz laughed and said, "I think they missed you."

"Of course they did," Denny replied reaching over the fence to pet his stallion.

"Anyway, I wanted no part of it," Shirley continued, "So while he went into the house to ogle Melvin's possessions, I went for a walk around the property, and found Zonkey in the barn."

Denny pointed to his wife. "And THEN she fell from her high horse, and said that she just HAD to have him."

She almost jumped to defend herself. "Hey! You can't pin that on me. You're the one that wanted a zebra."

Trying to discreetly defuse the couple's bickering, Liz said, "Well, much to Red's dismay, it seems that Zonkey's taken an instant liking to him. The fuzzball really gets a kick out of clowning around. He reminds me of the stereotypical little boy that acts rudely towards his crush." She laughed, grinning from ear to ear. "The BEST part, I think, is that it's working. Even if Red won't admit it, the little guy is SO winning him over."

Denny laughed, reaching to scratch behind Zonkey's ears. "That sounds about right. He's smarter than he looks."

"Alistair's been working with him too. He can pull a cart with two passengers," Shirley said.

"Bah!" Denny scoffed. "He's a good pack horse though. Er, pack donkey? Pack zebra? Whatever."

"So... if you go on a really long trail ride, like overnight, he'll wear a pack and carry the supplies?" Liz asked, not hiding her excitement. "There's at least fifty miles of marked trails around here."

Denny's face lit up. "Think Raymond will go for it? We had a bad experience during a cattle drive in Utah..."

Liz nodded, "Oh, I know. He told me all about it."

The older man shook his head, chuckling. "No, I doubt he told you everything." Shirley elbowed him again. "What? What did I say this time?"

"Red won't WANT to do it, but a little quid pro quo might go a long way towards changing his mind." As if to offer encouragement, Ruger nudged Liz's hand. "Are you guys still planning on fly fishing?"

"Probably," Shirley answered.

With defiance, Denny corrected her. "No, not probably. We ARE!"

"Hmm... I may have an idea, then... I'll need to think about it for a little while though..." Liz trailed off. "Would you guys like to meet my horse, Hudson?"

"Delighted," Shirley replied. "You seem to have Raymond wrapped around your little finger. That's no small feat. I have to admit that I'm impressed."

Following Liz's lead towards Hudson's paddock, Denny said, "Well, I'm not. You never met his first wife, did you Shirl?"

"His first and only wife," she answered. "And no, I didn't."

"Well, if you had, then you wouldn't be surprised either. Ray will do anything for the woman he loves, and I mean ANYTHING." To prove his point, he continued, "Even though he doesn't like horses, he bought you Houston, didn't he, Liz?"

Try as he might to hide it, Red's heart had never stopped aching over what happened between himself and his former wife. At her very mention, Liz couldn't control the hurt that she felt on his behalf. Well, as he's told her more than once, that's what love is, she thought. "It's Hudson, but yes, he did."

They fell into a contemplative silence, boots crunching the gravel underfoot. Entangled in Liz's mind was Denny's snafu, with the way he'd referred to her as Red's fiancée. What exactly had happened there? Was Denny unwittingly spilling a legitimate secret, or was he simply confused? Was it a symptom, or a sign? She couldn't think of a way to politely ask him.

She did, however, have an idea that may get her an answer from Red, if only indirectly. She set her jaw, resolving to put the matter out of her mind for the moment.

Liz spotted Hudson before he saw her. Expertly lodging two fingers into the corners of her mouth, she whistled loudly, and then laughed at Denny's startled expression. Hudson tossed his head and knickered softly in greeting. He took his time walking to the fence to greet them, and as he drew closer, Liz sighed, relieved that he hadn't rolled in anything. His black coat shined brilliantly in the afternoon sun.

"He's beautiful!" Shirley exalted. "What breed is he?"

"Thank you. He's an Arabian."

Denny earned another elbow from Shirley, scoffing. "An ay-rab? Why?"

Liz replied, "Why NOT? Anyway, I didn't exactly choose him. Even though he was a gift from Red, it's more like we found each other."

Denny's back straightened. "We're at war! It's unamerican."

Her immediate anger unchecked, Liz's fiery, unblinking eyes latched onto his, and she retorted, "Yeah? Buying an Arabian horse in America is more unamerican than buying a Spanish warhorse in Spain?"

Denny Crane is NOT a man accustomed to backing down, yet inexplicably, he wilted under Liz's crystal-blue, piercing gaze. Despite her lack of remorse, her expression softened in time with his lowering resolve. A painfully-extended and charged silence fell over the trio, compelling Denny to redirect, hoping to smooth things over. "Say, aren't ay-rabs bred for endurance too?"

Liz nodded, content to play along, dropping the issue before it could heat any further. "They are, yeah. They have a wide ribcage, and thus a large lung capacity, perfect for endurance riding." She busied her hands by combing her fingers through Hudson's mane.

"Well, that will come in handy after you've talked Raymond into that overnight trail ride," Shirley said.

"You're coming too, right?" Liz asked.

Her lips quirked. "Eh.. I don't think so. I'm not very fond of riding."

"So? Neither is Red. You guys can bond over your mutual discomfort. Come along anyway."

"Yeah, Shirl! I don't want to spend a minute of my vacation without my beautiful wife. On that note," Denny paused for effect, pointing one finger into the air, "THERE WILL BE NO BONDING WITH RAYMOND."

"Well, I'll be bonding with him," Liz boldly stated, casting a mischievous grin at her guests, "at least once."

Denny chuckled. "Saucy! Ray's a lucky man. I can see why he loves you."

Shirley pursed her lips, neither shocked nor offended. "Well, it takes a special kind of woman to keep up with him."

"As could also be said for this guy right here, I'm sure," Liz replied, lightly patting Denny's shoulder.

Shirley took Liz's arm and linked it with her own, steering them back towards the cottage. "Oh honey, you have no idea..."

"Uh oh! I don't think I like this. You girls are already teaming up against us, aren't you?"

Stoking the flames of his worry, whether real or imagined, they simultaneously looked up at him with matching faux doe eyes, and then slowly turned their gaze toward each other, breaking into laughter when their eyes met.

"We're going to have a fun week," Liz said.

-...-...-...-...-

For dinner, Red showed off his grillmaster skills, serving angus steaks that he bought from a neighboring farm. The temperature plummeted below freezing, but the foursome remained outside on the deck, reveling in the exceptionally star-filled sky. They drank a lot, perhaps even too much, and none were bothered by frigid air.

Time after time, Red found himself taking a mental step backwards, observing it all from a surrealist's perspective. He'd never been a religious man, but he could think of no better word for the feeling than "blessed". It was amazing, SO amazing how easily they had all reconnected, falling back into a familiar, comfortable niche within each other's lives. Even better, was that if Denny turned out to be Lizzie's biological father, then that niche would soon be carved even deeper.

At his behest, Dembe had left the DNA results in the glovebox of his Benz. Despite being outside of Red's line of sight, the envelope taunted him. He couldn't allow himself to look-not yet, at least. That would happen later, after Liz fell asleep. If they matched, he would need time to react and process things without prematurely tipping her off.

After waiting until everyone was plied with alcohol, Liz dove into the task of talking Red into the overnight trail ride. "Do you know the best spot for flyfishing on the Rappahannock?"

"I don't," Red replied, "but I'm certain that I could easily find out."

"You don't have to. I already know."

His interest piqued. "Oh?"

"It isn't far. Maybe fifteen miles. Got your waders?" She grinned and winked as he met her gaze.

"I was hoping you'd have forgotten about that." He turned towards Denny. "Any chance Bespoke or Greenfield will make a custom pair?"

"I'm pretty sure that you're joking, but in case you aren't... with enough money, you can have ANYTHING custom made."

"Isn't it grand, being so filthy rich?" Red replied, grinning and waving his cigar.

"Okay, fine fine fine," Liz said. "We'll revisit the waders later. Now, about that fishing spot..." She paused, ensuring that she had Red's full attention. "The problem is, you can't get to it by car. It's too far from the road."

"Perhaps by ATV then? We don't have any, but I'm sure I could get a couple," Red suggested.

"But what if you didn't?"

"I don't follow," Red answered flatly, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he had a sneaking suspicion of where she might be going with this.

She rested her chin on his shoulder, gazing upwards sweetly through her fluttering eyelashes. "We could go on horseback."

"Sweetheart, you know I don't ride."

"Neither does Shirley, but she will, if you do."

Red looked towards her for support, but found none. She shrugged. "How bad could it be, Ray?"

"We can even camp out overnight!" Liz pleaded, well-aware of the effect that her excitement had on him. She rested a hand on his thigh and leaned in to speak directly into his ear, "We'll share a sleeping bag."

Red struggled to swallow the thick lump in his throat. "You're making this rather hard on me, you know."

Her hand inched upward, and she hummed with delight. "Already?"

"Fine! Fine! You win, but you're not playing fair at all. I can't believe I'm actually agreeing to this."

Liz rewarded him with a kiss. "I promise that you won't regret it. It's going to be so much fun."

Across the table, Denny was grinning and practically dancing with excitement. Just look at them, Red thought to himself. If they aren't related, it'll be an enormous surprise. If they are, however, she'll probably be mortified for that display of lascivious behavior in front of her father.

Oh well?

-...-...-...-

Curled up in bed, their legs entwined, Liz broached the conversation that she hoped would clarify the nature of Denny's engagement slip. "You know, Denny says a lot of random, socially-unacceptable things..."

"Yes. It's fun though, isn't it?" Red replied. "You just have to be willing to accept the unacceptable. Take it for what it is, but don't take offense."

"But has he always been like that, or is it the mad cow?"

"Always. In fact, I think he may have had alzheimers for much longer than anyone knows. If he's always making those faux pas, then who would even notice? How could they, if the symptom was already baked into his personality?"

This wasn't going very well at all, Liz internally fretted. "But does he do it on purpose? That's what I really want to know. I thought that maybe, if he's always been like that, then he's doing it on purpose, but that doesn't really make sense."

"No? Why not?"

"Because a lawyer who behaves that way couldn't possibly remain undefeated in the courtroom, and a jury's perception can't be effectively manipulated without first understanding it. Some of the things Denny says... He really seems surprised to have offended, like he really doesn't believe it, and he doesn't understand why or how."

"I wish I had an answer, but my guess? Before the mad cow, he probably always did it intentionally, for the sole purpose of entertaining himself, knowing when he could or couldn't get away with it, and feigning surprise over any 'accidental' offense. How else could he be such a successful lawyer? Now, it's probably a little of both."

Liz sighed, burying her nose into the crook of his neck. "But can you ever tell which it is? Can you tell when he's doing it on purpose, or when he's just confused? I just get this feeling... like, maybe he uses the mad cow as an excuse to say what he really means."

"Sweetheart, are you okay? Did he say something that upset you? You seemed fine at dinner." The litany of questions was beginning to drive him mad. Normally, Liz would be asleep by now. Why wouldn't she just go to sleep?

"It's nothing, really. He just said something stupid, about how unamerican it is to have an 'ay-rab' horse. I'll admit, I was a little annoyed, but I brushed it off. I'm just curious." It wasn't the whole truth, because it wasn't the comment that she was dwelling on and fretting over, but she really had been ticked off, at the time.

Red tucked in his chin to kiss the top of her head. "It's just an occupational hazard, right? I understand, but I wouldn't recommend profiling Denny Crane."

"Yeah, you're right. It's fine. I love you."

He tightened his hold on her and sighed. "I love you too."

Soon. She would fall asleep soon, wouldn't she?


	17. Chapter 17

AN: FINALLY, the DNA results! Is Denny Crane really Lizzie's biological father? This chapter is pretty short, and MOST of it is explicit, smutty sexytimes for Liz and Red. Results are at the very end.

***NSFW SMUT WARNING***

I hope you guys enjoy. Thank you for reading and reviewing!

disclaimer- author loves the characters and the shows, but claims neither ownership nor profit from any of it.

-...-...-...-...-...-

Red was curled protectively around her, playing the big spoon, so he'd know exactly when Liz finally fell asleep. Forty-five minutes later, she was still awake. He found it highly unusual, especially considering how much wine she'd had with dinner.

Even more unusual was how long it took him to come up with a solution to the problem. One could argue that it was her idea, assuming that she was leaning back and shifting her weight against him intentionally.

She probably was,

he decided.

Well, if this was what she wanted, then he hoped that she wanted it now, because he wasn't in the mood to take his time. He snaked his hand up her tank top to fondle her breasts, pulling her closer and earning an appreciative moan.

Affirmative.

She wanted him.

Red propped himself up on one elbow and lowered his mouth to her neck, kissing his way up and down the length of it with parted lips and tongue. She hissed when he shoved his hand into her panties, going right to the spot that made her writhe against him with need.

Liz blindly reached backwards to grab at his thigh, but that just wasn't enough. He reclaimed his hand to grab hers and lace their fingers together, smug from her huffed breath of protest- but torture wasn't his intent. He guided her hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, and used his own fingers to wrap hers around him.

The only way to stop himself from thrusting into her hand was to occupy his own, so he returned it to her center, much to her relief. The second he parted her folds and discovered how ready she already was, he found himself instantly rock-hard and trembling.

She'd been thinking about him, had been thinking about this, and just waiting, knowing how he'd react to that realization.

No wonder she couldn't sleep.

Stilling his hips was no longer an option. He slipped one leg between hers to part them further and provide better access. With two of his fingers curled inside of her, she abandoned her current task, letting go of his raging erection in order to pull down both his boxers and her panties. "Red, please..." she whimpered.

LUCKY. If asked to describe how he felt in that moment, that's all he'd be able to say.

Raymond Reddington: wordsmith, troubadour, and lover of classic literature- effortlessly reduced to a tightly-wound ball of breath, blood, and fire, nearly incapable of forming complete sentences- all at the effortlessly-intoxicating hand and heart of Elizabeth Keen.

He reached down to align himself and pressed forward and upward only the slightest bit. With one arm wrapped around her waist and his breath hot on her ear, he asked, "Is THIS what you want?" and thrusted all the way into her at once.

She cried out and pressed backwards against him, suffering only a bit of pain as she stretched and squeezed around him. For the moment, Red could only tighten his grip around her waist and hold on for dear life.

Liz took a page out of his book by grabbing the hand at her waist and putting it where she wanted it. He took it from there, and began to rock his hips in opposition to the motion and pressure of his palm. She pulled the pillow out from underneath her head and buried her face into it, biting its quilted case and trying to muffle her cries of ecstacy.

The sudden bowstring tension of her body told Red everything he needed to know. She was already there, but she was holding back.

Waiting for him

as if it were necessary.

"Lizzie, sweetheart, you should come." He spoke the words low and slow, with his lips pressed against her carotid artery.

Her eyes rolled back at the suggestion. "Only if you come with me, inside of me."

She said it like he actually had a choice, but Red would have begged to differ. His reply came out as deep, rumbling groan, expelled into the groove between her shoulderblades.

He used his body weight to roll her forward, so she wasn't quite on her stomach or her side, but somewhere in between. With increased leverage from the shifted position, Red moved harder and faster, thrusting forward roughly, his teeth firmly holding purchase of her shoulder.

He left marks everywhere his hands and mouth touched because she loves the constant reminders of how it feels to be taken by him.

Just when he was seconds from coming without her, Liz threw her head back and clamped down around him like a vice. He felt her climax with his entire body, a series of rolling waves that he gave back to her with his own, burning hot, pulse by pulse.

She took his hand and laced their fingers together, leaving them connected and grounded to one another even after Red slipped out. The room filled with only the sound of panting as both came down and tried to catch their breath.

His voice gravely and thick with adoration, Red exalted, "Lizzie, I love you so much, but I don't deserve you."

Her laughter was like music as she craned her head backwards to capture his lips. "You're right, you don't, but I love you too, and I also love it when you try." She kissed him again and his laughter piled on top of hers, as complementary together as their bodies.

"Let me run to the bathroom real quick. I'll be right back," he said, squeezing her hip as he rolled away and out of the bed.

Arms stretched upward, she mercifully yawned. "Okay. Can't promise I'll still be awake when you get back."

Excellent.

Though tempted to go out to the car immediately, Red did exactly as he said, and was pleased to hear her telltale rhythmic breathing upon his return. Rather than climb back into bed, he slipped on his robe, and then turned on his heel and tiptoed outside.

He climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door behind him. With a deep breath, he opened the glove box and pulled out the envelope.

Inside, he found a small stack of papers. The first was blank. The second was a chart, showing the alleles tested, side by side for comparative purposes. He was certain that it was necessary, descriptive information to have, but it might as well have been written in a language that he didn't speak. He didn't bother trying to parse it.

On the third page, he found a detailed description of the findings depicted on the previous page.

On the third page, the answer.

On the third page, the sealing of their fate.

Shaky hands brought it closer to his face.

One deep breath,

and then another.

His eyes raced across the paper in a fine frenzy.

AH!

He re-read it, but far more slowly this time, just in case. Lizzie would never forgive him if he was wrong about this (Okay, perhaps he was being a little hyperbolic, but under the circumstances, wasn't he entitled? Yes).

His stomach and heart seized at once, and with a stiff jaw, Red slipped the papers back into the envelope and dropped it on his lap. Resting his head against the cool glass window, he let his eyelids fall and cursed himself for not having a concrete course of action. He'd spent enough time fretting over the outcome.

No, no. Surely there WAS a plan, but he'd forgotten it. Perhaps he, too, had the madcow.

But fuck. Now what?

His very first thought concerning both the 'here' and the 'now'?

Well, he hoped that Denny was asleep, and that he hadn't just overheard the sounds of his long-lost daughter having wild, wanton sex with his flamingo.


	18. Chapter 18

AN: A funny, fluffy "morning after" scenario.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

I own nothing

-...-...-...-

After a long night of fitful sleeping, Red woke up earlier than everyone else and prepared an enormous, lavish breakfast. Cooking, much like assembling puzzles or machines, is a methodical process in which he finds a measure of comfort, when given the luxury of time.

If only it could provide reassurance as well.

Denny was the first to emerge and join him in the kitchen, wearing a long-sleeved red onesie that he topped off with a genuine coonskin cap. Red howled with laughter at the sight, but Denny's face remained impassive. His get-up wasn't exactly unprecedented, but it had been at least twenty years since Red had last seen it.

And in this, he did find reassurance. Some things never change.

Denny grabbed a plate and piled it high with scrambled eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, biscuits, and gravy. With that accomplished, he sat at the table and picked up two forks at once. "Lock 'n load," he grunted with conviction, finally looking up at Red.

"I cannot believe you still have that ridiculous hat."

He dropped one fork, grabbed the decanter of freshly-squeezed orange juice from the center of the table, and poured himself a glass. After taking a huge gulp, he set it down and looked up at Red again. "Aha! I know what this is about. You're jealous because Shirley's cat made love to yours back in Omaha. Eh, you know, I don't blame you. I would have thrown it away too. Maybe I'll buy you a new one."

Actually, Shirley's cat had fallen in love with his own hat, not Red's, but Red kept that thought to himself and replied, "Believe me, I'm not jealous. I probably have more hats than you do."

Through a full mouth came his garbled reply, "Don't worry, Raymond. If you don't want to admit it, I won't push you."

Uh huh.

"Did you sleep well last night?"

"Like there was a marathon of Hilary Clinton speeches playing in the background."

For Denny, that translated to an emphatic 'yes', and that meant that he'd slept through their love-making.

"So, is Shirley up yet?"

"Got up before I did, but she doesn't like piddling around in her nightgown. She's getting dressed."

"Oh... That's too bad." He then turned on his heel, heading towards the hallway.

"You'd better not be going to our room to peek!"

Red paused and turned around. "Oh, I'd NEVER." He meant it, but he also held his teasing tone as if suggesting otherwise. Immediately, he gave himself a mental kick. Now was NOT the time to toy with Denny.

Old habits might die hard, for some. For Red, they live forever.

In his own room, he found Lizzie in only a matching bra and panties set, sifting through her wardrobe and trying to decide what to wear. These panties were among his favorites. Sitting low on her hips and intentionally small in rear coverage, they left a couple inches of her perfect buttcheeks exposed at the bottom. After hastily closing the door behind him, Red forgot why he'd entered in the first place. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed a line from her bra strap to her earlobe, where he hummed a greeting. "Good morning." He lowered one hand just enough to tug on the elastic waistband of her panties and let it go with a gentle snap. "Have I ever told you how much I like these?"

"Mmm... only a time or ten." Anticipating his next move, she turned her head to allow him to capture her lips. "So, what was so funny?"

He had no idea what she was talking about. "Huh?"

"Just a couple minutes ago, your laughter woke me up."

Red shifted and kissed along the same trajectory on the opposite side of her neck. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry. It's just Denny. His sleepwear is a little, ah, antiquated. You'll see."

"Nothing too revealing, I hope."

He chuckled. "No, it shouldn't spoil your appetite."

"I smell a story coming on."

"Well, I'd hate to disappoint, SO... almost a lifetime ago, Shirley's parents invited us to Thanksgiving dinner at their home just outside of Omaha. Denny has this motto: Never, EVER say 'no' to a roadtrip."

"Ah, the days before your private jets."

How he loved those little wry smiles.

"Shirley was smart enough to fly down ahead of us, so naturally, we took advantage of the situation."

"Uh oh..."

"We stopped at every weird, creepy sign that we saw along the way. In Mahaska, we found a reststop that was also a tackle shop and furniture store. You can take a piss, buy a fishing pole, AND buy a coffee table to kick up your feet while you go fishing. Can you imagine? Talk about one-stop shopping! Superb."

She groaned. "You're right. Shirley made a smart decision."

"We bought matching coonskin caps. The next day, somewhere in between the turkey and the pumpkin pie, we found Shirley's cat getting it on with Denny's hat in the coat closet."

"You. He. What? I don't even..."

Picture perfect and nonplussed, his love.

"Shocking, isn't it? I would have expected that from Denny's cat. Usually, he's the one getting caught with his pants down in coat closets."

She probably didn't need to hear that.

He shrugged and added, "It's just a fetish."

Or that.

"He's USUALLY the one?"

"Gotta strike when the iron's hot. Those closets can be surprisingly spacious."

It wasn't her favorite spur-of-the-moment, idiomatic double entendre, but it was still a pretty good one.

"How does that relate to Denny's pajamas?"

"Vaguely, but he IS wearing the hat."

"Huh... I'm thankful that your sense of style has evolved since then."

"It hasn't, but when we empty our buckets, we like to dress up for the occasion."

Liz could only guess what that was supposed to mean.

Sensing that his presence was no longer wanted, he said, "I'll let you finish getting dressed, and when you come out, you'll find both your breakfast and coffee awaiting you at the table. Sound good?"

She reached back to give his thigh a quick squeeze. "Yes, thank you."

When he returned to the kitchen, Denny was already on his second plate, and Shirley was seated beside him. Red gave her a polite peck on the cheek as he passed. "Good morning, Shirley. Sleep well?"

"Good morning, Raymond. This is quite a breakfast spread. I can't believe you made both whole scrambled eggs AND scrambled egg whites. You're spoiling us."

He winked. "That's the idea."

"And I slept well enough, thank you. Probably not as well as Denny..." While Red busied himself with fixing Lizzie's plate, she looked over her shoulder to shoot him an accusatory smirk, and then added, "Of course, on a farm, one expects to hear the barnyard animals at night."

"Oh, yes... that's right. I keep forgetting that you grew up in the country, so you know how it is with those animals - always rolling in the hay... calling out to each other from across the paddock... eating absolutely everything in sight..."

Seizing all opportunities to reference oral sex - count that among Red's undying habits.

Denny jumped in. "It's a good thing you don't have any chickens."

"Oh?" Red asked, pleased that the innuendo had apparently flown over his friend's head, just as he had expected.

"It's the cocks! Always crowing, doin' that 'cock-a-doodle-dooo'. You know, they don't just do it at sunrise. That's a popular misconception. They don't even care what time it is. They do it all. the. time!"

Hm. Perhaps he'd misread the situation.

In a very serious, lowered voice, Denny added, "But that's nothing compared to the sheep. Don't even get me started on sheep!"

Red thought back to the dude ranch incident. Oh crap.

"Good morning, all." Liz walked in, all smiles and perfectly-sated sunshine, metaphorically stealing the shovel from his hands before he could dig himself in any further. She intentionally took a slightly-longer path to her seat, squeezing both Shirley and Denny's shoulders as she passed. "This looks great!" She shot a quick smile to Red, currently fixing his own plate, as she sat down across from their guests.

After Red took his seat beside her, she asked, "So, we don't really have any particular agenda for the week, do we?"

"Nothing set in stone, but we have some options."

"Such as?" Denny asked.

"Well, we've got a few Civil War battlefields, and there's that vineyard we've been talking about, Veritas."

Liz interjected, "Oh, I know!" All eyes turned to her. "Your yacht, Red."

Shirley's face lit up. "I love sailing!"

"I can't believe we didn't think of it sooner." She shook her head.

Red could. He had a reason for not bringing it up. "Don't you think it's still a little too cold for that? With the wind and all..."

"No, it'll be fine. I'm not suggesting that we go swimming. Come on! We haven't been out to Lake Anna in forever!"

Denny's breath hitched, and he froze mid-chew.

Yep, there it was - the reason. Thankfully, no one else seemed to notice.

"Yeah, but you know, it isn't exactly the classiest body of water." The excuse was weak as hell, but he said it with the utmost conviction and aplomb, lending to his argument a sense of validity that it didn't have.

Unswayed, her reply was flat. "That never bothered you before."

His heart seized at the secretly-poignant situation. She didn't even know her own name.

"And it still doesn't, but our guests deserve better scenery. What about Chesapeake Bay?"

"Yeah, okay..." Liz started to cave. "I guess we usually just pick Lake Anna because the bay is so full of jellyfish. No reason to worry about that if we aren't swimming though. Makes sense, except... you aren't moored on the bay."

"I've got a trailer. We can move it." A total pain in the ass, but doable. Would it be wrong to pray for rain?

"Either would be fine with us, really," Shirley said, sounding almost apologetic. "Or neither, even."

At that, they let it go.

An unhappy thought suddenly hit Liz. "Say, do you remember how long ago that tornado touched down nearby? With the flash flood and that crazy wind?"

"Tornados? Around here? With all these hills and trees?" Shirley was genuinely surprised.

"They seldom do more than touch down and disappear, but we still get tornado watches and warnings with almost every bad storm."

Red's brow furrowed in concentration. "Which one? We've had several in the last year, if I'm not mistaken."

"Oh..." Liz's shoulders slumped in obvious disappointment.

The trio eyed her curiously, none successful in following her train of thought.

"I haven't taken that trail all the way to the river in awhile, and I can't remember if that was before or after the last storm. It could be impassable, for all I know."

"I believe it's pronounced imPOSSible'," Denny corrected.

"No, impassable - as in, felled trees, washed out trail markers, flood damage, et cetera."

"Right, so it's imPOSSible to follow the trail."

Helpless, she shrugged her shoulders and gave up. "It seems to me that if we don't make it to the river, I might never successfully convince you to mount a horse again." Liz replied, gently nudging Red.

They all chuckled. "You might be right."

"How about we go check it out today, then? Then we won't have to deal with the hassle of packing our camping and fishing stuff for nothing." Denny suggested.

"Nope! You're lucky that I'm willing to do it once. I'll skip the rehearsal dinner."

"Then we can all just go without you."

Shirley echoed Red's sentiment. "I'll pass, as well."

"Okay... how about this? Denny and I can check the trail, and you guys can check out Veritas instead."

Only Red was nervous about the idea of leaving Liz and Denny alone together for so long.

They would either bond or clash. This could be the very best thing or the worst.

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "That works for me."

"Me too," Shirley affirmed.

Only one way to find out.


	19. Chapter 19

AN: It's been so long since my last update that I had to re-read the whole thing before I could even get started on this chapter. Talk about painful! It's so funny how much my writing style has evolved since the beginning. This is my first multi-chapter fic, and boy does it show! It's closer to the end now than the beginning, but nowhere near done, it seems. Apologies are needed for this long, drawn out wait, assuming anyone was actually still waiting. I'm sorry about that. Inspiration ebbs and flows.

Still disclaimed, nothing is mine.

-...-...-...-...-...-

Dapper in his cream-colored three piece suit, Red made an effort to keep a safe distance away from Zonkey while seeing Denny and Lizzie off on their trail ride. Zonkey's shedding hair wasn't his concern. It was the slobber that he always left by fumbling through his pockets. Luckily, the little guy was far more interested in sniffing out Hudson and hitting the trail than begging for treats. Wearing his pack for the trip, he looked even more stout and adorable than usual. Liz hadn't loaded him up fully, and instead had only packed their lunch and perhaps a few too many first aid provisions, at Red's behest. Unbeknownst to her, he was channeling his nerves about giving her the day alone with Denny by fretting over their safety.

She mounted and turned to glance at Denny, already astride Ruger. He was decked out in ostentatious western wear that had obviously never been worn. She couldn't help but smile at the apparent contraction. Though his outfit looked like dude ranch, rhinestone cowboy garb, he was obviously at ease on his mount. His collective body language was that of a very accomplished horseman, and she could tell immediately that he was.

He caught her looking at him and returned her smile. "All set to giddy up?"

"Ready when you are." She returned her gaze to Red. "You two have fun at Veritas. Get drunk if you please, and if you taste anything you like, don't come back empty-handed."

"Certainly," Red replied. "I only wish you were coming with us."

"If you're afraid of missing me, there's at least two dozen horses that could have your name on them. Hudson can wait while I tack one up for you." She grinned down at him, suddenly curious about what he might wear for their trail ride the following day. Before he could reply, she added, "What are you gonna wear tomorrow, anyway?" Visions of snug blue jeans danced in her head, and god help her, they were delightful visions indeed.

"You'll just have to wait and see."

"Will you be riding English or Western?" Well-fitted English riding jodhpurs would probably make his ass look even better, she thought wistfully.

He hadn't given it any prior thought. It was really the least of his worries. "I think I'll go Western." The horn on the saddle seemed like a good idea. At least he'd have something sturdy to grab onto, if necessary.

As if reading his mind, she replied, "You'll be fine. If you can handle me, you can handle a horse just as well."

"You think?"

"I know." She leaned down towards him. "Come here."

He did as requested, resting a hand on her thigh and angling his chin up to give her a kiss that quickly turned into three.

"Okay, okay. We should all arrive back at around the same time, and I'll make dinner."

"Sounds good. You guys have fun today."

"Not too much fun!" Denny piped in. Shirley headed over to him and gave his leg a quick squeeze, and then walked back over to Red and linked her arm with his, steering him towards their awaiting car.

-...-...-...-...-

The private tour that Red booked included generous samples of literally every wine made at the vineyard, followed by a light lunch with fine cheeses and fresh baguette outside on the picturesque mezzanine. Both were sufficiently buzzed by the end of the tour. Red regaled Shirley with his quintessential cheerful story-telling all the while, but in the back of his mind, as always, was Lizzie. He hoped that she and Denny were getting along well. She certainly wouldn't call him just to say that she was miserable with the man, so he'd have no way of knowing if that was the case.

When the conversation hit a natural lull, he resorted to his old standby, one that also came naturally to him - unabashed flattery. His eyes met his old friend's and he smiled softly. "You look as radiant as ever, you know. Denny is one lucky flamingo."

She chuckled, her slender fingers toying with the stem of her saugivnon blanc. "Yes, he is, and you're still a shameless charmer."

He lifted his eyebrows in expectation, his lips pursed, clearly not satisfied by her response.

"And what I didn't admit to you in front of Denny, back in Boston, is that you're surprisingly polished for a man who's spent over two decades on the run. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't quite this." She waved one hand in the air. "Still handsome and suave as hell, Raymond Reddington. Your wanted poster did you no justice."

He laughed heartily. "That was taken after I'd been holed up for seven months in Phonthong. I didn't have so much as a haircut the entire time."

"So, someone got a photo of you and then you slipped away again?"

"More like I arranged for someone to get a photo of me before I slipped away, but yes. And I've been meeting up with Denny with some regularity over the past few years..." He trailed off. "Ah, I shouldn't be surprised. Why on earth would Denny relay information about my appearance?"

"Indeed."

He finished his glass of wine and immediately poured another. It was now or never, and 'never' was a far from viable option. He canted his head and chewed his cheek, searching for the right words. There could be no natural segue for such a grey swan of a subject.

"What?" she asked. His deeply-engrained tells hadn't changed over the years.

"I have a matter of great import to discuss, and frankly, I don't where to begin." He lightly drummed his fingers on the table, unable to sit still.

"Take your time." Her whole demeanor morphed instanty. She was treating him with kid gloves, like a traumatized defense witness on the stand, but Red didn't mind. He could use all the help be could get.

"I'm afraid I've invited you and Denny here under somewhat false pretenses. A conversation he and I had over dinner in Boston gave me a hunch that I couldn't resist following to its conclusion."

Shirley's face was a well-practiced wall, ready to absorb anything. "I take it you've reached one."

He nodded slowly. "Yes, yes, I have... Denny had a daughter out of wedlock thirty-eight years ago. You can do the math, I'm sure. It was after he'd met you, yes, but before you'd reconnected and married. The woman had a fiancé, and she wanted to raise the child with him, make him believe that she was his, and not tell him about Denny. She only let him meet her once." Red knew that she must have a million questions already, but because she stayed mum, he just kept talking. "She'd send him photos whenever she needed money, always from a different address... until one day, when the girl was four years old, the photos just stopped. He never heard from her again."

"God, I... I can't believe he never told me. That's horrible. So my husband has just been living with this, all this time."

Red reached across the table, palm up, in invitation. She gladly took it. "The universe is incomprehensibly vast, but the world is so, so small. With a tilt of the axis, it seems, some things just fall into place... It's Elizabeth. I ran a comparative DNA analysis last night. She's his daughter."

Shirley deflated, instantly boneless, her jaw slackened and opened slightly, but only for a second. Then she shifted back into her well-practiced interrogation mode. "That's... _your_ Elizabeth? Liz? The woman we sent on a trail ride with Denny? Who's all alone with her right now?" She pulled her hand away and clasped her own, under the table.

He regarded every nuance of her newly transformed facial expression - the widening and then crinkling of her eyes, the slight upturn of her lips. Shock. Incredulity. She was a little wary, of course, but not unhappy, and he couldn't have been more relieved. "Yes," he replied.

"Oh my god, what if he's hitting on her? You _know_ him, Raymond! Are you NUTS?"

"Could be," he chuckled. "But look at you, already protective of your step daughter. It's very sweet."

"My step daughter! My brain hadn't even processed it that far yet."

"You should consider yourself lucky," he quickly replied, his chin angled upward, open and confident.

"And _you _should be worried. Imagine his reaction if you'd slept with me, and multiply that by ten. You're sleeping with _his daughter_!"

"_Your_ step daughter."

"If you were worried about that, you wouldn't keep reminding me."

Red sighed, slouching back in his chair before taking another sip of wine. He drawled his reply slowly, carefully choosing his words. "True, I'm not. Denny however, well... I've already given that a lot of thought, and no small measure of concern. Still, my greater concern is for Lizzie. She's long believed her father to be dead. To tell you the truth, I thought he was dead too. I don't expect her to be angry with me, but this will dredge up a lot of long-buried, fractured memories that she'll feel compelled to re-examine. It won't be easy for her."

This time it was she who offered her hand, and he took it before continuing, "I'm hoping that Denny will be grateful enough for me finding her that he won't shoot me. Life is full of risks. It seems I always take them."

She squeezed his hand, her gaze softened but steady. "So is love."

-...-...-...-...-

After watching their partners retreat towards Red's car, Liz lead the way through the large paddock and over to the gate that opened up to the trailhead. With little thought, she dismounted, unlatched the gate, and swung it open for Denny and Zonkey to pass. When she'd closed it behind her and remounted Hudson, she was mildly annoyed to look up and see that her companions had already gone along without her. "Don't you think I should lead, since I'm the only one who has ridden these trails?" she called out, trying to mask her annoyance.

Denny didn't even turn around as he shouted his reply, "Denny Crane is not a follower!" Evidently he'd chosen to ignore the fact that he'd just followed her to the trail.

She swore under her breath, but realized that since Zonkey was loose and following Ruger, it might actually be best for her to take the rear, so she could keep an eye on him.

The woods were surprisingly thick for the cool season, and the rhythmic sound of leaves crunching underhoof was both loud enough to excuse the two riders for engaging in minimal conversation, and soft enough to lull them deep into their own respective thoughts. The lull of hoofbeats was one of the most therapeutic aspects of riding, for Liz. It was also the one she felt that Red would most appreciate, and she continued to look forward to it all afternoon, as pleasant as her ride with Denny was.

The pair was able to keep their mounts at a trot or jog for most of the ride, rather than walking the whole way. They took breaks for Zonkey, whose little legs had to work the fastest at their pace, though he kept up with a vigorous enthusiasm that surprised Liz. Along the way, they passed numerous placards denoting the historical civil war events that had occurred on the spot. Some pointed out the sunken-in battle trenches that were still there, or the ruinous foundations of old plantation houses. They paused to read each one.

Denny's unwavering enthrallment by the local war history brought a smile to Liz's lips. She could just imagine him the following day, pointing out the upcoming placards to his wife and proudly recounting what they say before reaching them. He'd probably get the facts all mixed up, and the names too, but everyone would let him get away with it to have his fun. Hell, Red would probably jump in with some intentionally-contrived facts of his own, just to amuse himself.

A few slight detours for felled trees did little to complicate the journey, much to their mutual delight. When they arrived at the river, they dismounted, loosened their mounts' girths, and replaced their bridles with halters, tying them loosely to trees near the riverbank, so they could drink and graze. Liz unloaded their lunch from Zonkey's pack while Denny walked around, plotting out their campsite for the following day.

The river before them stretched out wide and fairly shallow, and the afternoon sun glittered across the surface. Together, they rolled a log near the riverbank and then sat upon it, just a few feet apart. It was just broad enough for them to balance their food in between them. Red had packed their lunch that morning - Eartha Kitt's pimento cheese sandwiches with bacon, on thick-sliced tomato basil bread, with raspberry lemon squares for dessert, and bottles of lime San Pellegrino to drink.

They chatted for awhile about their respective careers, each expressing mild interest in the other, and Denny was on his best behavior. He had some good stories to tell, especially from his younger years. Back then, he'd struggled valiantly for independence from his lawyer father who expected him to practice law exactly as he did. Just as he'd told her, Denny Crane was no follower.

Liz had a single question of great import that she was itching to ask the man beside her - had been itching to ask for their entire ride - had been waiting for lunch to ask, but here they were, and damnit it was unfair, and did she really want to ruin a possibly grand surprise? Wasn't it wrong to put her guest on the spot? Wouldn't it get back to Red, and wouldn't he be displeased? Didn't curiosity kill the cat? How many times had she died already?

Enough, she was sure. Too many, most likely.

But ah, restraint had never been her strongest suit.

"Denny, do you remember yesterday afternoon, what word you used to label me in relation to Red?"

He set down his raspberry lemon square to eye her suspiciously, unaware of the stray blob of raspberry perched on the corner of his mouth. "Why would you ask me that? Are you testing me?"

"Oh, no! I'm sorry. I'm not, I promise. Nevermind." Her cheeks flushed slightly. Of course this sounded like some kind of mad cow diagnostic question. He was probably used to that kind of thing, and he obviously hated it too.

"Uh huh.." He picked up his raspberry lemon square and took a huge bite, his face a closed-up wall. Well, she deserved that.

She'd have to return from another angle. Her mind made quick work of finding a better question. "Do you think Red will ask you to be a groomsman? Can flamingos be groomsmen? I'm unfamiliar with the etiquette."

"Of course they can, but I don't know. We haven't spent much time together over the years. He probably has closer friends now."

Her veins began to vibrate in a heady anticipation. She took a long pull from her mineral water, the fingers of her other hand digging into the tree bark. "Well, for whatever it's worth, I hope that after he asks me, he asks you."

"You were speaking hypothetically, right?" he replied, not missing a beat. "I took that as a hypothetical question."

_Right. _The madcow man is still, first and foremost, The Undefeated Lawyer, _The_ Denny Crane. She suddenly recalled a particular story that Red had told her, and in an effort to school her features and inject some levity, she said, "Will you do me a favor?"

"Anything for a beautiful woman."

"At my hypothetical wedding, can you please stay out of the hypothetical coat check closet?"

"Better have your wedding outdoors, just in case," he replied, and the two burst into laughter.


End file.
